


Journey

by emwebb17



Series: The Heir of Earth Child [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Coming of Age, Conspiracy, Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 70,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emwebb17/pseuds/emwebb17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kingdom of O-nam sits on the ancient site of a holy war.  The new heir to the throne must traverse the continent to prove he is strong and wise enough to rule.  However, the heir will never get the chance to rule if the moles from the Northland and Ahm empires have anything to do with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Background

Excerpts from _On the Peoples of Salt: A Comprehensive Compendium of Anatomies, Magics, Ethnicities, Cultures, Religions, Countries, Royal Lineages, Histories, and Conflicts of the World in Nine Parts_

By Dr. Kellan M. F. Goonsby, MAM, DoE, IC

Copyright 4324

Aëll Publishing House

Keeyas · Oldess · Brinnentown

 

From Part 1: Anatomies

 

“…being bred out after All Nations War III (ANWIII).  As such youthful vigor remains imbued in the flesh past the age of eighty; a decline in muscle mass, bone density, skin tensile strength, hair, gums, and teeth health does not set in until past eighty-five or so years of use.  The human life averages between 95-115 years (years defined as circuits of the sun, not that withering of seasons business held to by the peoples of the Belt despite the near exactitude of duration) with the record for the oldest verified person (as of the printing of this book) being 141 years old upon her death.  Thus ‘old age’ lasts for approximately 15 to 30 years.  The definition of old age is necessarily subject to close scrutiny as it can be used as an unjust means to rob the hale aged of property, thought, and independence.  Below are several examples of the evils of bureaucracy regarding…”

 

“…infancy lasting well into the second year before babes show any semblance of sentient functioning.  Ablutions training should be complete by no later than age four.  Five if the child is particularly slowwitted.  While philosophically unnecessary though objectionably unavoidable, onset of puberty around age sixteen lasts a staggering five to seven years, with most people coming out fully formed by their early to mid-twenties though none show any sensibility when it comes to control of their earthly desires until well into their sixties, not coincidentally when menopause in women occurs.  The age of majority varies from country to country but averages to about a quarter century.  An appallingly young age to allow children to have responsibilities.  Below are several examples of the illogicality of allowing mere youths to…”

 

From Part 6: Countries

 

“…Pendra, being the only civilized country on the planet, Salt, is mercifully isolated from the Belt and the small continents of Northland and Ahm.  I hesitate to use the word ‘continents’ as both Northland and Ahm are barely more than large island nations.  If we examine the origins of the word continent and pair it with the understanding of…”

 

“…the Belt therefore fitting neither definition of continent nor supercontinent as there is no separation of land by large bodies of water.  Spanning the equator of the planet for a contiguous 3,407km, it is narrowest at the Gong-nam Pass at 81km and widest where the Peninsula stretches 1,159km into the Southern Ocean.  Separated mainly by geologic and geographic boundaries, there are a multitude of ethnicities (see Part 3: Ethnicities) and cultures (see Part 4: Cultures) scattered across the Belt, but only five true, established countries; the rest of the peoples exist in primitive or nomadic societies little better organized than a collection of tribes and clans settled in an arbitrarily defined geographic location.  The five existing countries, listed from the oldest to the newly established are the Kingdom of O-nam, Creevat’taugh, the Kiye Island Nation, Alawoodyn, and the Republic of Maubern.  O-nam is much older than any other country, its history (See Part 8: Histories) predating even that of Pendra though it remains hopelessly primitive in comparison.  Pendra, being the allegorical diamond of civilization in the roughness of the rabble that is Salt is an extraordinary…”

 

From Part 3: Ethnicities

 

“…belies a reasonable hypothesis that all peoples, despite some culture’s (Pendra’s) clear superiority, are in fact originated from a common source.  The pointed differences of the Northland and Ahm peoples and their similarities to themselves are the result, according to my careful analysis of migrations, births, and blending of bloodlines outlined on the previous 54 pages, of limited interbreeding and necessary adaptations made to their respective climates caused by self-imposed isolation.  The Belt demonstrates the vast variety in human coloring, shape, and size when people co-mingle and interbreed across national, geographical, and even class lines.  There are occasional pockets of homogenous groups, found mainly in the interbred clans of the Heather Ridge Mountains and the Phon river basin where travel to and from these regions is perilous at best.  Returning to my hypothesis regarding hair color in the Draeden region of the Belt, let us take a closer look at the pollination experiments I conducted on the Phillotim arbem _Pendal_ , also known as the common pea plant…”

 

 

From Part 4: Cultures

 

“…will focus only on four of the major cultures of the world, with summations of the multitude of other collections of rituals and arbitrary laws of the peoples of the Belt though not truly constituting true sophisticated cultures as the enlightened and urbane would understand.  Of course, even these four when compared to Pendra appear little better than cave peoples banging bones on rocks in protracted epiphanies…”

 

“…oddly enough it is knowledge and education that the Northlanders value above all else.  From a child’s first ability to speak coherently, at around four to five years of age, they are assigned what is called in their language a ‘kein-sha’ and a ‘kein-shi,’ a male and female teacher/mentor respectively.  These keins are responsible for overseeing the education of the pupils in their charge (each kein is usually given one male and one female student per year) for the next twenty or so years of their lives.  The education covers reading, writing, language, music, history, politics, biology, botany (among a variety of other topics) with the emphasis being heavily placed on mathematics and philosophy.  Another oddity of the Northlanders is that the keins are not only responsible for didactic explanation of sexual education, but also the practical instruction of the act with lessons beginning as early as twelve years of age.  (A personal sidebar, I often wonder if back during the development and organization of the country of Northland some authoritarian was caught diddling a small child and passed it off as enlightenment and education and as such the initiation of pre-pubescent children into sexual beings became an accepted and even expected part of their culture.)  The Northlanders provide knowledge and education equally across gender and class lines, participating in a form of government that falls heavily within the confines of a parliament with quite unexpected punctuations of socialism.  There appears to be a class of people that have some immunity from their universal law structure, though not a true ruling body.  These are the priests and priestesses of their god (see Part 5: Religions).”

 

“…complete rot.  The Ahmians are a superstitious and harsh people, deriving much of their culture from the rules of their religious texts (See Part 5: Religion).  Males and females are segregated from infancy and remain segregated for the rest of their lives.  There are no marriages, only highly controlled and calculated swivings.  There are no families, only rank and assignments.  Quite contrary to the country of Northland, sexual congress is considered a punishment and trial issued to them to endure by their god, requiring chastity and repression by young and old, male and female alike.  Castrations and female circumcisions are common, and while some are issued as punishments to those who fail to ‘resist the evil of humanity’s folly,’ many choose it voluntarily after successfully producing a healthy child.  Birth defects and physical anomalies are rarest in the Ahm peoples as they kill any child deemed imperfect.  All this is information they offer freely in the rare event of crossing paths with foreigners in their inane attempts to educate the rest of the world as to the ‘proper way to live.’  As to the education system, government, and economical structure little is known except that there are no social classes and no centralized ruling power.  They are, quite simply, daft zealots.”

 

“…what they claim to be a ‘democracy,’ but is nothing more than a small group of officials ‘elected’ to ‘serve the people’ and really do nothing more than serve their own selfish interests.  Without exception these Senators are ‘elected’ from the upper class, barely two percent of the population who control 90% of the wealth.  A full 40% of people live in or near poverty.  The rest muddle around in a poorly defined middle class obeying the laws and taxations of the government, but leading day to day lives not much directly affected by the machinations of the Senate.  The Senate came into being as a result of being elevated from among the ranks of the pioneers of their initial small nation who conquered all the lands and assimilated all the peoples between the Heather Ridge Mountains and the Phon river basin.  Maubern is therefore the largest country in both population and land area on the Belt as well as the world, eclipsing even Northland.”

 

“…the only true monarchy left in the world.  However, O-nam’s culture is highly independent of their ruling structure relying instead on custom and ritual mixed with technology and evolution.  I support that the monarchy (and the country itself) has lasted as long as it has ironically due to its ability and willingness to adapt and change as social mores, international conflict (See Part 9: Conflicts), and the economy have both evolved and even devolved with devastating and cataclysmic effects on other nations and cultures.  Mainly the flexibility, and therefore the strength, of O-nam is found in the people themselves who have very little restrictive laws and seem to rely more on a karmic sense of good will to others even if only doing so to preserve themselves.  (A sidebar, it is from O-nam and their old, mostly obsolete language that we derive the word ‘karma.’)  Like Ahm, their marriage system is quite atypical from the rest of the world (while customs and rituals vary, marriage is quite universally defined as being between only two people who a vast majority of the time are of the opposite sex) as they engage in what they call ‘civil unions.’  These unions can involve the usual two person paradigm, one person married to multiple people, multiple people all married to each other, a pair or group agreeing to foster children without being bound to each other, among various other strange and complicated arrangements.  That being said, these unorthodox unions are quite in the minority with most people opting for the traditional one man and one woman marriage (though same sex pairings are surprisingly common in O-nam especially considering most other countries of the Belt have laws and stigmas against such relationships).  The monarchy might very well be the reason for such customs exiting as, is unheard of in any other history of any other country in the world (See Part 8: Histories), there is a clear and unbroken bloodline which can be legitimately traced from the current ruling monarch (as of the printing of this book) back to the first king of O-nam who ruled 8000 years ago.  The line of succession can go to either a male or female (often a female being preferred as then there can be no doubt of the parentage of future heirs), to either a child born within or without of their civil unions (the old O-nam language has no word for ‘bastard’ and even today they do not recognize such a term other than when referencing a particularly nasty person), and most interestingly to the choice of the current ruler and not necessarily the eldest child.  In fact, this last caveat has resulted in a quite fascinating tradition of the O-nam monarchy in which the selected heir, after reaching the age of majority (a quarter century in O-nam as of the printing of this book) is sent out from the kingdom on a nomadic journey around the entire breadth of the Belt.  When (and if) the heir returns, he or she is deemed to have had the opportunity of enlightenment and adventure, to have gone through joy and suffering, and to have gained the ability to see the world from more than one perspective.  It is believed that this makes a fair and goodly ruler.  The validity of such a claim is, of course, subjective, but the duration, prosperity, and even militaristic success of O-nam seem to indicate that it must not be working against them.  According to the annals kept since the first such pilgrimage began, over 4000 years ago, not a single heir has failed to return.  Nonsense of course, but perhaps their strength also lies in clever deception.  This leads one to question the entire structure of the O-nam monarchy and its culture and all those ‘legitimized’ records they have dating back to before Pendra’s existence which certainly lends little credence to their claims since Pendra is by far…”

 

“…would be worth expounding upon if the Creevat’taughs could expend any energy at all on something other than architecture and their infernal, incomprehensible naming conventions.  Below is a modified version of my doctoral thesis on the lunacy of the concept of art as government…”

 

From Part 6: Religions

 

“…this being a rather brief summation of the Heart of the Universe serves as comparison of the religion and church of Pendra (and goes without saying the truth of the world) to those pagan stories scattered across the rest of Salt.  With the exception of the various small clannish nomads and occasional pinpricks of settled communities who tend to believe in multiple gods based on natural phenomena (as polytheism is typical in primitive cultures) the Belt is a relatively godless land, not believing in true divinity, but passing tales and folklore of creation and a semi-godlike hero from generation to generation in mostly oral tradition.  This lack of belief in a true greater power is evidence of the Belt’s ignorant arrogance.  Below are several examples in which the peoples of the Belt, regardless of their nationalism, have taken for granted…”

 

“…have hated each other and slaughtered each other for thousands of years in the name of their god.  As far as I can tell from my extensive and exhaustive studies, the Northlanders and Ahmians actually believe in the same god; they simply adhere to scriptures written by different prophets.  Radicalism and blind faith at its worst.  This is how the Heart of the Universe truly differs from all other false religions.  As discussed in pages 1345-1389, section six of my brief treatise on the Heart of the Universe…”

 

From Part 2: Magics

 

“…rather different views of magic in the world.  The Northlanders believe there is a well of magic inside every living thing (or perhaps only people; the archaic writing system translates poorly) and by drawing on this inner magic, miracles and impossibilities can be performed.  The Ahmians believe magic exists in the ‘threads of the world,’ and magical objects and familiars must be used with carefully worded and spoken incantations and occasionally with body fluid sacrifices in order to draw the magic to themselves and manipulate it.  The people of the Belt, quite universally and in a surprising display of rationality and common sense, rightly believe the use of magic to be superstitious hokum.

 

 

From Part 7: Royal Lineages

 

“...therefore the definitions of monarchy, sovereign, head of state, inheritance, succession, usurper, legitimate, adoption, blood-right, blood-rite, and restoration, not to mention king, queen, emperor, etc. etc., can vastly effect whether or not a large or small entity constitutes a true royal lineage.  However, for simplicity’s sake, of the ninety or so examples I’ve provided, below is an abbreviated pedigree of O-nam’s royal line as copied from the official _Blood Line of the Children of the Earth_ , second edition.  I provide only this lineage since as previously stated, O-nam has the only real, extant monarchy on Salt.”

 

From Part 9: Conflicts

 

See Volume 2.


	2. Northland

Part 1: Missions

United Calendar 1012 - 1016 (Pendrian Calendar 4325 - 4330)

 

Northland

 

Aya leaned against the cool, textured stone wall as he stretched his feet across the hall.  He was so tall now he could almost reach the other side if he stretched his toes to the max.  He quickly snapped up his legs and squirmed in minor agony as he waited for the cramps in the soles of his feet to relax.  Once he was comfortably sitting again, he sighed loudly with impatience and annoyance.  He turned his head and placed his ear flat against the wall.  A simple thinning spell allowed him to hear through the half meter thick stone like it was paper: grunting, moaning, slapping sounds and smacking sounds.  He canceled his spell and sighed again.  It certainly wasn’t a wistful sigh.  He’d been asked, and even begged, to participate in the three-way (and thus make it a foursome) currently taking place inside his cousin’s room, but he’d rather peevishly and impolitely declined.  So, his friend had left him to wait outside while she received an impromptu lesson from his older cousin and his preferred lover.

As a rule, Aya had no qualms regarding anonymous sex (and Emilia had met his cousin once so technically it wasn’t completely anonymous he conceded), but he rarely participated himself.  In fact, he was quite certain that of the few times he’d engaged in sexual activity outside of his lessons with his keins that he had known everyone involved.  And all of those encounters with the exception of one hazy memory of an orgy after a night of ill-advised drinking had been one on one.  He’d enjoyed none of them.  He couldn’t see the point of being physically intimate with someone if you weren’t also intellectually and emotionally intimate.

Aya picked at a nail in disgust.  Or more than likely, he didn’t participate in the rampant partnering of his contemporaries because he was bitter that he could never have the opportunity to truly be with the one he loved.  Not only was Myka happily married and therefore did not engage in any extramarital affairs outside of his lessons, it was immensely frowned upon for a person and his or her kein to engage in a relationship other than mentor and pupil.  Frowned upon, but not forbidden.

Aya started violently as the floor and wall burned white hot for an instant.  He barely managed to get up a reflecting spell and believed that his palms only suffered mild discomfort and a temporary pink swelling due to the short duration of the spell rather than any action on his part.  He stood up from the floor, brushing off the seat of his pants, relieved to find no burn marks on the cotton.  These were brand new and his guardian would murder him if he came home with magically damaged clothing again so soon after the last time.

Aya walked to the heavy wooden door of his cousin’s apartment and countered the locking spell easily; his cousin was completely ungifted in the magical arts (especially when he had sex on his mind).  He pushed the door open and didn’t have to step in far to find the trio on the raised floor near the miniature shrine to St. Savin rather than behind the false wall that hid his cousin’s bed.  His cousin was flat on his back with his preferred lover straddling his hips while Emilia straddled his face.

“Who the hell isn’t controlling their magic in here?” Aya demanded, unperturbed by the sight in front of him.  Sex was common to the point of banality in Northland.  And yet, people still did it with ferocious frequency.

His friend was clutching at the top of the shrine and making sharp gasping sounds that were not any answer he could interpret.  More than likely she hadn’t heard him at all.  His cousin was certainly in no position to answer him.  He looked at his cousin’s preferred lover, Lea?  Lia? for a response.  She kept lazily undulating her hips but looked over her shoulder at him.  She smiled.

“You finally decide to join us?” she asked.  Her voice was low and husky, even when she wasn’t having sex, but Aya found it grating whereas most everyone else found it arousing.

“No,” he snapped.  “Who’s not controlling their magic?”

“No one,” Lea or Lia replied with a delicate shrug of a naked shoulder.  “We’re casting no spells.”

“One of you just sent out a heat spell that nearly burnt through my clothes!  Look!”

Aya held his hands out to her, but the pink had completely faded away and his skin was again the smooth, strange alabaster that made even the soft, creamy peach of Lea-Lia’s skin look ruddy by comparison.  She frowned at him.

“Why do you always flaunt yourself, but never let yourself be taken?”

Aya flushed at the implication.  He had a reputation for always being a top with females and males.  He was often teased for his prudishness.  A word that had been pulled out of obscurity in their need to define him.  As all Northlanders needed to define _everything_.  He tried to think of a clever response, but Lea-Lia had sent images into his head of himself being mounted by quite a rude variety of partners.  He pushed the spell aside and was galled to find himself impressed by the girl’s skill.  The ability to invade someone’s mind like that was more than simply advanced; only masters and keins had the control and aptitude to push their will onto other people.  Lea-Lia couldn’t be more than twenty-two.  Either she had found an irresponsibly mislaid instruction text and been practicing secretly, or she’d seduced some idiot instructor into some private tutoring.  Aya could also invade other people’s minds even though he’d had no instruction and was five years younger than Lea-Lia.  It was just something he’d discovered he was able to do quite organically and easily years ago.  In retaliation, he invaded Lea-Lia’s mind now.  Nothing so weak as simple flashes in her mind, he produced an illusion on the floor that assaulted all her senses.  He picked out the image of her pet dog from her brain and produced it broken and splattered on the floor of the raised altar.  Her eyes perceived it in vivid detail.  Her nose detected the sweet rot of blackened blood and the putrescence of blow flies hard at work on spilled intestines.  He even made her ears buzz with the sounds of hundreds of tiny wings.

Lea-Lia screamed and tried to move, temporarily hung up on Aya’s rather well-hung cousin before pitching herself to the side and dry heaving.  The shriek got the other two’s attention finally, and Emilia fell to the side on her hip as Denyen sat up on his elbows.  The illusion was gone, not that the other two would have perceived it anyway (invading more than one person’s mind at a time to make them all see the same thing took a lot more effort and concentration, but it wasn’t impossible).  With the smell and sounds disappeared, Lea-Lia’s visceral reaction was gone almost as instantaneously, but the memory was not.  She turned flashing violet eyes on him.

“You little shit!” she snarled at him.

“Lua, what’s wrong?” Denyen asked with concern, moving to her side.

“Your brat of a cousin just cast a spell on me!”

Denyen turned a frown on his little cousin.  The boy was beautiful of face, but was so surly it was hard to see why others found him so attractive.

“Did you, Aya?”

“You don’t believe me?!” Lua shrieked.

And this was why Aya loved Denyen more than any of his other cousins.  More than most other people in fact.  Denyen never took anyone at their word without having the whole story and all the facts.  He even awarded this magnanimous gesture to his troublesome cousin who 90% of the time had done whatever wrong he was accused of.  It was just nice to have someone willing to believe his innocence the other 10% of the time.  And for that reason, he couldn’t lie to him.

Aya’s lips tightened and he balled his hands into fists of defiance, but he gave a small, curt nod.  Denyen’s frown deepened.

“Aya.  We didn’t force you to participate.  Why didn’t you stay in the hall?”

“Someone wasn’t controlling their magic!”

“It was probably you, you dangerous _kaiba_.”  Aya didn’t recognize the word from the old language, but Denyen winced.  “You play with your magic too much!  You use it all the time for the littlest things!  You should have fever and headaches and fatigue!  But you don’t!  Because you aren’t normal!  You aren’t human!”

She spat at the shrine to St. Savin to protect the divine prophet from all things unnatural.  And, Aya assumed, specifically him.

“Lua,” Denyen sighed and got to his feet.  He crossed the room and pulled Aya into his arms.  Nudity was not at all uncommon in the country of Northland and Aya found it remarkably easy to resist seduction when faced with completely naked people; naked bodies were funny.  Funny ha-ha and funny queer.  But being held by Denyen thus reminded Aya quite vividly of the last time he’d been held by his naked cousin.  He blushed hotly at the memories and in embarrassment at his body’s excited reaction.  He pushed Denyen roughly away.

“I didn’t do anything she didn’t deserve,” he insisted petulantly.

“Pig,” Lua retorted.

“Finish your orgy,” Aya flung at the group lamely.

He stomped toward the door.

“Aya!” Emilia called after him shrilly.  “You said we’d go to mass together!”

“Go by yourself!” he shouted and broke into a run as soon as he was in the narrow corridor.  He pushed thoughts of his cousin aside; he hadn’t wanted to worship the Almighty with him, but Denyen could be so persuasive when he had his mind set on having something.  Or someone.  Aya careened around corners never once bumping into stray objects or knocking into people because he cast his sight in front of him.  He ran out of the stone hall and over the covered wood bridge that connected it to plaster hall.  His feet slapped loudly on the light colored material but he was through it so fast that the sudden plunge of his fore-sight into the darkness of wood hall before his actual eyes got there caused him to stumble momentarily.  A few more turns and trips across covered bridges through brick hall and glass hall (which wasn’t really glass but polished metal) and he found himself in metal hall with its oversized and garishly painted metal doors.  He kept running until he crashed against the one door that offered him comfort and sanctuary in all of the city of Rauston, and by extension, the whole world.  He pounded on it with his fist, but at the same time called out to the occupant inside.  He could sense he was alone, which was more than fortunate because he couldn’t deal with Myka’s wife.  Not right now.

Myka opened the door, working a finger in his ear to dispel the ringing Aya’s spelled call had caused.  Aya looked at him for a moment: at forty-seven he was quite young for a kein-sha not in his first or second year having been promoted fifteen years ago at a scandalously young age.  He had tan skin (darker than most Northlanders), black hair, and black eyes, with striking features not classically handsome but captivating nonetheless.  Aya flung his arms around his kein-sha and started sobbing accusations at Lua, Emilia, Denyen, and every other person on the hard, sharp rock that was the continent of Northland.  Myka must have been in a good mood for he indulged Aya and let him cry, only forcing him to move just enough to get inside his apartment so that he could close the large, metal door.

Aya cried harder than he had since he was a small child and been denied a toy.  He was embarrassed over the display, but mostly confused as to why he was so upset.  Emilia abandoned him for sex all the time; especially since her breasts had finally started coming in.  He’d never liked Lua and cared very little for what she said about him; it wasn’t the first time she’d accused him of being unnatural.  And as much as he was reluctant to admit that he’d enjoyed the casual sexual congress he’d had with his cousin a few months back, he certainly wasn’t bothered by it; it had been the best sex he’d had outside of his lessons.

“So what is the matter?”

It took Aya a moment to realize that hadn’t been an internal thought but an external question posed by Myka.  Aya shrugged.  Myka let out a small laugh and released him.  He left Aya standing in the foyer of his extravagant apartment (though compared to some keins’ accommodations it was downright modest) and disappeared into the many roomed complex.  Aya followed his nose, which detected a mouth-watering blend of spices marinating a slow-roasting pork belly over a small fire, and found Myka in the kitchen evenly chopping vegetables for what looked like would eventually become a salad.  The kitchen was the smallest room in the complex and looked like it belonged in brick hall having dried-blood red bricks punctuated with deep grey bricks in no set pattern.  There was a large wood-burning oven built into and taking up most of the back wall, and it was in there that the pig parts roasted.  There was an orb of pure white light hovering over Myka’s head (conjured by the kein) but it was the only light in the room other than the fire from the oven.  The other half of the room lay covered in a hazy gloom as the flue did not appear to be working efficiently.  The ceiling was high, but hung with such voluminous and long bundles of herbs, flowers, roots, and alliums that most people had to duck under them or risk a swaying army of seasoning.  Up until three years ago, Aya had been able to walk under them without so much as even tilting his head to one side.  Now the onions would smack him flat on the nose if he wasn’t paying attention.

Aya watched Myka work from the entrance, leaving his feet on the metal of the main hall.  Brick and quartz made him uncomfortable, even through thick soled shoes like the ones he wore now.  He leaned against the curve of the arched doorway that mirrored the oven, but then immediately stood up straight again.  The doorway was brick.  Chop, chop, chop went Myka’s knife.  Aya refused to let his anger and disappointment show on his face.

“Is Paloma coming home soon?” he asked flatly.

Myka smiled but didn’t look away from his careful, precise work.  “Paloma is in Riddon visiting her sister and new niece.  This is for you.”

Aya crossed his arms over his chest.  “How do you always know when I’m coming?”

“You shout my name through your heart quite loudly, Aya.”  He glanced up and pierced his student with his black gaze.  “You do not hide your feelings as well as you think you do.”

Aya frowned.  “I don’t think I hide my emotions well at all.”

“Exactly.  Will you move the dough away from the fire?  It should be done rising.”

Aya hesitated and Myka didn’t take his eyes off him.  Aya let out a small noise of protest, but stepped onto the brick.  It felt worse than ever: hard, intense, kind of spiky.  The feeling got worse with every passing year.  He forced the discomfiting sensation down until it became nothing more than an irritating prickle and picked up the wooden bowl and peeked under the towel covering it.  Inside was a beautifully risen lump of winter flower dough.  Quite an expensive thing to make in the dead of summer and un-coincidentally Aya’s favorite food in the whole wide world.  Well, he’d never tried foods from all over the world, but he was certain nothing could be better than the sweet, sharp tang of winter flower bread.  He wanted to thump the bowl down on the counter next to the vegetables, but he didn’t want to risk making the dough fall.

“You had to start making this two days ago,” Aya said sourly.  “No matter how loudly I might call to you, you couldn’t see me coming here that far in advance.  Not unless you can see the future.  Should I tell the priests?”

“Insolent,” his kein-sha murmured with an affectionate grin, and Aya yelped as his dulling spell was canceled and the bricks pushed up at him.  Aya howled and jumped on his tiptoes across the floor until he was safely back on the metal.  He looked back at his teacher with a baleful expression.  It wasn’t so much that he _had_ canceled his spell that had irritated him so much, but the fact that he _could_ cancel it.  With few exceptions, Aya had learned how to use magic on his own.  Though “learned” wasn’t quite right; he just found that if he wanted to do something, he could.  The only thing he’d been unable to even have a glimmer of how it worked, no matter how much he practiced or begged his kein-sha to explain it to him, was the ability to cancel other people’s spells.  As far as Aya could tell it was impossible to manipulate other people’s magic, but it was a skill all keins possessed.  It was how one became eligible to become a kein.  Aya assumed there had to be some people who had figured it out, but kept silent because they didn’t want to be a kein, but they had to be very rare.  The keins lived in the utmost luxury, they held the largest sway in the parliament, and had legal immunity for almost any transgression.  It was hard to imagine someone not wanting that kind of power.  Aya was certain he’d be able to figure out how to control others’ magic eventually; he was just undecided as to if he would let anybody know.  Becoming a kein and having to teach children didn’t sound all that fun.  Especially if he had to train them sexually.  He’d probably train them wrong.

Myka was dumping his chopped vegetables into a bowl and saying in his most exaggeratedly sage voice, “No one can see the future, Aya, for the future does not exist.  Remember that.  There is no such thing as fate and destiny.”

“Then explain the bread!”

“I was making it for Paloma.  The baby came quite suddenly.  She’ll be gone longer than the dough will keep and you never go more than three days without visiting me during school vacations.  Today is three days since the last time you were here.  I would have called the authorities and reported you missing and possibly dead if you hadn’t shown up by dinnertime.”

Aya let out an aggravated noise and let his eyes roll up into his head.  He heard Myka chuckle softly and frowned at his mentor.  He kept his feet firmly planted on the metal floor and watched the man move quietly and efficiently around his kitchen.  He checked the pork belly, and then began to roll out the winter flower dough on a flour dusted section of counter.

“What would you like for a filling?” Myka asked.

“I like it plain,” Aya responded dourly.

Myka made a face, but after mixing up a combination of sugar, warm butter, and finely chopped strawberries, he only spread it over half the rolled out dough.  Then he carefully rolled the dough into a tube, cut it into ten even pieces, and placed them in a glass baking dish.  He placed the dish in a front corner of the oven for slow baking.  Most people wouldn’t have even noticed the minute flick of his wrist, but Aya saw Myka cover the dish with a spell to keep ashes out.  Then he began washing dishes.  Not through some sustained magic spell that kept water flowing, but through pipes that relied on vacuums and pressure—made possible by the non-magic that was _engineering_.  It was a science only taught to those students who graduated from their keins and showed a real aptitude for mathematics.  He didn’t understand how it worked, but he did know that it was strange for Myka to wash the dishes for himself; every other kein that Aya knew had servants for this sort of thing.

“So,” Myka said as he worked, “are you going to tell me why you were crying like a ten year old when you barged into my home?”

“I didn’t barge—”  Aya sucked in a breath and didn’t argue that point.  He had to think of what to say.  Why _had_ he been so upset?  Maybe he’d figure it out if he just talked about what had triggered it.  “Emilia and I were heading to mass, and we ran into my cousin and his preferred lover.  They invited us for a foursome and I said no.”

“And you were crying because they teased you?”

“ _No_ ,” Aya said irritably.  “I waited outside and someone didn’t control their magic and burned me out in the hall!”

“And that’s why you were crying?”

“No!”

“Well, why won’t you tell me why?”

“I’m trying to give you some context!”

“Okay, okay.”  Myka tried to hide his smile by placing a clean bowl in a drying rack.

“So, I confronted them and my cousin’s preferred lover teased me about…about…”

“Not wanting to have sex?”

Aya twisted his fingers together, feeling uneasy.  “Well, yes, though specifically the fact that…”  He blushed.  He didn’t know of anyone else in all of Northland who blushed when talking about something as workaday as sex.  “The fact that I…”

“Don’t like to bottom?” his kein supplied.

Aya had to turn away to hide his face.  His stupid skin was so fair every inch of his face up to the tips of his ears would be red.  Myka sighed behind him.

“I blame myself,” he said, not really sounding very guilty at all.  “I always wait so late to start practical instruction with my students.  Everyone says too late.  But I just don’t see the point of trying to train parts that aren’t even developed enough to really be used.  Though waiting till puberty really does limit how much practical instruction you receive.  Plus, you poor thing, have that old crone for a kein-shi.  She should have stopped being assigned students years ago.  It’s no wonder you aren’t very fond of sex: you have so little instruction from the male side and I can’t imagine humping a dry vagina is all that pleasant.”

“It’s not!” Aya agreed.  “Though usually she doesn’t even want that.  She just likes to touch me instead.”

Myka turned to look at him with a disturbed expression.  “She instructs you on…?”

“Well, it’s not really instruction.  She just tells me to take my clothes off and then touches me for a couple of hours.”

Myka frowned and wiped his hands on a towel.  He exited the kitchen and stood beside him on the metal flooring.

“When school starts again, you can go to your academic lessons with her, but don’t go to sex ed until I’ve had a word with the kein association.”

Aya felt a wiggling worm in his stomach.  He wrung his fingers tighter.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked nervously.

“No.  Not at all.  In fact, the reason you feel so uncomfortable with sex is because you have no real knowledge of how it should be.  She’s been molesting you.”

Aya’s jaw dropped.  “What?”

“Plus there’s the fact that you were initiated much too young.”

Aya flushed again, but he also went cold with dread.  “You know about that?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Myka smiled at him pityingly.  “Everyone knows about that.  It was performed in the church after all; there were witnesses.  It’s why Priest Beyso was sent to Rock End Abbey where there are no initiations performed.  I personally feel he should have been imprisoned—you were only seven years old for St. Savin’s sake—but it’s impossible to prove that his claims that he was called by the Almighty to initiate you weren’t true.”  Myka sighed again.  “It’s people like him and Ellma,” he named Aya’s kein-shi, “that sully the purity and grace of the worship of the Almighty.  I’ve petitioned for years for initiation to be put off until a child reaches puberty, but it clearly states in the Holy Word that a child needs to be ‘filled with divine seed’ at a young age.  Of course, if you take into account the Martyr’s translation from the old texts and compare them with his contemporaries’ histories, it’s apparent that ‘seed’ should be translated as ‘beginnings’ or the ‘origins of all,’ which is of course a euphemism for _knowledge_.  The young child should be filled with ‘divine knowledge.’  It’s a complete misinterpretation of the text and well worth a serious reexamination of all the holy scriptures if you ask me, but no one ever does.”

Myka refocused his eyes after coming out of his spiel and found Aya had gone dead white and had tears leaking from his clear, blue-grey eyes.

“Is there—” Aya sniffed, “is there something wrong with me?” he barely managed to get out a wavering voice around his sobs.

Myka pulled Aya into his arms, running a hand over the baby-fine white-blond hair of his head.

“Shh, no.  You’ve done nothing wrong.  You just attract the wrong kind of attention because you’re beautiful and…unique.”

Aya gripped his kein-sha tightly and pressed his face against the soft cotton of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric.  He continued to cry and sniffed back the snot forming in his nose.

“Omal said I’m an albino!  Is that why?”  Aya took in a shuddering breath and then cried again, trying to keep his wailing to a minimum so he could hear Myka’s reply.

“No, you’re not an albino.  You are quite pale and your hair is blond as a baby’s, but your brows and lashes are dark.  Albino’s have white brows and lashes.”

“They do?”

“Yes.  And most noticeably, they have pink eyes.”

Aya sniffed.  “You’re making that up.”

“I’m not.  You’ve seen albino rabbits, right?  What color are their eyes?”

“Pink,” Aya mumbled into his chest.

“See?  The Almighty just made you with a muted palette.”

“An ugly palette,” Aya groused, sounding closer to twelve than seventeen.

“Who are you to judge what the Almighty creates?  Besides, while there are no physical descriptions of St. Savin in the scriptures, foreign accounts of his travels among the infidels describe him as having eyes ‘light as the grey of a winter morning.’  I rather imagine they would be like yours.”

Aya tilted his head back and looked into Myka’s black eyes.  “Do you like them?”

“I do,” Myka smiled gently.

Aya stood on his tiptoes, closing his eyes as he aimed for Myka’s lips.  Instead he kissed his cheek.  Myka had turned his head away.

“Aya.”  That’s all he said, but his tone said everything.

Aya clutched his kein-sha’s arms in desperate anger.  “Students have lessons outside of school.  This can just be a lesson.  You’ve already admitted I’ve been improperly trained.  You should correct that!”

“Aya.  You don’t want a lesson.  You want me to make love to you.”

“So what?!”

“I love Paloma.  I perform my lessons dutifully, but that’s all they are.  If I were to engage in sex for any other reason, I would be unfaithful to her and myself.”

“That’s ridiculous!  Everyone knows recreational sex is just that!  Isn’t that what we’re taught?  What _you’ve_ taught me?”

“I don’t engage in recreational sex, Aya.  It’s my choice.  And besides, again, you’re not asking for recreational sex.  And I can’t give you what you want.  Because I don’t love you the way you love me.  The way I love Paloma.”

Aya pushed away from him, reeling in rage.

“You don’t know how I feel!  You’re so full of yourself!  So arrogant!  I don’t love you!”  His body shook, his voice cracked, and he felt the static of priming magic between his knuckles.

Myka sighed, unimpressed.  “You’re acting like a child, Aya.”

“I _am_ a child!  Right?!  According to you, barely old enough to be ready for sex.  According to the law nowhere near old enough to make my own decisions about with whom I want to live and what I want to do with my life!  I’m weak and undisciplined and harmless, right?”  Aya bared his teeth in a ferocious snarl.  “Cancel _this_ spell,” he hissed.

Aya sent out his magic, simultaneously paralyzing not only Myka’s body, but his magic.  He couldn’t control someone else’s magic yet, but he could repress it if it wasn’t currently in use.  With Myka thus frozen, Aya reached for him, forcing their bodies together, gripping his face tightly, but gently kissing him.  He felt Myka lash out with a cancellation spell, but it remained inert against Aya’s power.  Aya eased the paralysis off Myka’s legs just enough that he could backpedal as Aya moved him down the corridor that led to his bedroom.

Around Aya’s mouth Myka said, “Aya, don’t do this.  Actually, what are you doing?  _How_ are you—?”

Aya forced him to stop talking as he shoved his tongue into Myka’s mouth.  He had Denyen to thank for knowing how to do this.  Aya maneuvered them into the bedroom, over to the bed, and drove Myka down as his knees hit the edge of the mattress.  Aya straddled his kein-sha and continued to kiss him, but he knew this wouldn’t be what he wanted.  He’d have to keep Myka under such control that he wouldn’t be able to hold Aya in his arms.  Not that he would want to if he was being forced.  Aya groaned and dropped his face to Myka’s neck.  Then he collapsed on top of him as he dropped his spells.  He felt Myka twitch with the sudden release, but he didn’t retaliate with magic or by throwing him physically off.

Aya cried softly.  Now Myka would hate him.  And that meant nothing mattered anymore.  He had no one and nothing worth living for.  His parents were dead; his cousins with the exception of Denyen were mostly strangers; Denyen was going to be an adult soon and enlisted in his five years of service to St. Savin in Fallow, too far away for Aya to visit him more than once a year; he apparently had a pervert for a kein-shi, and now a kein-sha that hated him.  He would be forbidden to use magic after this little display.  They might even bind him, possibly forever.  Aya wondered if they could.  How strong were they?  Maybe he could make a run for it.  Sail for the Belt…if he knew how to sail a frickin’ boat.

Myka stirred under him.  Aya sat up and started to dart away.  He would have to leave immediately if he didn’t want his magic taken away from him.  Myka grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his lap as he sat up.

“Aya…tell me how you did that.”

“I’m sorry!  I know I shouldn’t have!  I just!  I won’t do it again!”

He just needed Myka to let go of him.  Maybe he would tell him to go to his guardian’s apartment; then he could run away during the interim for his appointment with the authorities and the clergy.  He was certain he would be disciplined by both if he didn’t get out of here.  Now.

Myka took his face in his hands and forced him to look him in the eye.  “Aya.  I’m not mad…well, I’m a little mad, but how did you do that?”

“Myka…” Aya started to cry.  “Don’t bind my magic!”

“Bind it?  Never.  You might be the one I’ve been waiting for.”

Aya sniffed and processed that.  “What?”

“How long have you been able to control other’s magic like that?”

“But, I can’t control your magic.  If you were using it, it wouldn’t have worked.  It was just because you were vulnerable.  It was just a bubble spell.”

Myka shook his head.  “I wasn’t inactive, Aya.  I was putting a calming spell on you when you canceled my spell and wrapped me up tight.  Apparently it wasn’t a very effective calming spell,” he said with a wry smile.

This news shocked Aya so much he stopped crying.  “You were active?” he questioned timidly.

“Yes.  How did you do it?  And how after using such strong magic are you still okay?”  He placed a hand to his forehead.  “You have no fever.  Do you feel bad at all?”

Aya shook his head.  “Well, not physically.  But I feel sick for doing what I did to you.”

Myka waved a dismissive hand.  “That’s inconsequential.  Draw your magic to your hands.  Center all of it there.  Everything you have.  Center it as power.  Force.  Pressure waves.  Do you understand?”

Aya blinked at him.  “Make…a bomb?”

“Just the idea of it.  Let me see how much power you can concentrate.”

Aya fidgeted, trying to concentrate on Myka’s words, but still acutely aware that he sat in his lap, halfway embraced by his arms.

“Isn’t it…against the rules to make a bomb?”

“Just do it, Aya!”

Aya flinched, but drew his power into his hands.  He didn’t even try to reach into himself to pull on the core of his magic; what was readily available to him would probably be enough for Myka to be impressed.  Myka cupped his hands over Aya’s without touching him.  Aya continued to shape the power in his hands, feeling it develop into a pulsing ball of energy that if released would probably take out half of Myka’s apartment.  He forced himself to concentrate on keeping it under control.

“That’s amazing,” Myka breathed.  “Can you make it stronger?”

“Stronger?”

“Just trust me, Aya.  How big can you make it?”

Aya drew more of his magic to his fingertips.  The power circled into his palms, converting to pure energy since it was not directed to any other purpose.  In began to pulse warmly against Aya’s senses as it was confined to the small space between his hands.  He had it under control.  It was strong, as energy it could cause a lot of destruction, but he had it under control.

Until Myka reached out with a small tendril of his own magic to examine the strength of Aya’s ball of energy.  It swirled into the small vortex.  Aya could tell Myka hadn’t realized what had happened yet, but he could feel it.  That tendril wasn’t winding its own way through Aya’s magic, it was being drawn into it.  At a rapidly increasing rate.  Aya tried to slide off Myka’s lap in order to put distance between them, as if that would help.  They could be five hundred kilometers apart, at opposite ends of the Northland continent, and Aya’s magic would still have possession of Myka’s magic.  He drew it in without intention, completely unsure how to stop it.  He managed to get to his feet and Myka started after him, and then swayed dizzily.

“Aya…what are you doing?” he mumbled nauseously.

“I—I can’t stop it, kein-sha!”  Aya reverted to the formal title out of his desperate need for help from someone who knew what they were doing.

“I can’t—” Myka fell to his knees.

“Kein-sha!”

Aya backed up until he hit the wall.  There was heat and friction in his hands, but it did not burn him.  He felt it aching to get free of his hands, to rush up his limbs and into him.  And whatever part of him was draining Myka’s magic, it wanted it.  It could sense all the magically charged people living in the warren-like residence of Rauston.  Just a little more power and it could reach out and drain them all.  But Aya forced it to stay between his fingers.  He wouldn’t let it hurt anyone else.  He was fighting against his nature to keep it from hurting Myka further.

So the power reached out to another source of magic, harder to access, but exponentially greater in quantity.  As the ball of energy throbbed, now painfully, against his hands, it took Aya a couple of crucial moments to realize he was drawing power out of the air.  No, not _out_ of the air.  _From_ the air.  From the earth.  The metal and wood of Myka’s apartment.  It shied away from the brick, but more than made up for it by drawing the flame from the kitchen.  Aya saw the fire in the oven snuff out like he was standing next to it.

“Aya!”

Aya started and opened his eyes.  He hadn’t realized he’d closed them.  Myka was still on his knees, but thankfully didn’t look he was being drained of all life by the power greedily sucking in every magical scrap available to it.  Aya’s hands hurt.  Not like they were being burned, but like he was clenching his fingers around a solid iron ball as if to make it smaller.  But it was getting bigger, causing his fingers to spread wide and stretch beyond their limits.  He couldn’t control it anymore.  And if it was pure energy and he let go of it…

“What do I do?!” Aya wailed, crying out as his fingers began to contort into unnatural shapes from the outward pressure.  He wouldn’t let go, but the tendons and bones would fail him in a matter of seconds.

“Convert it!” Myka shouted.

“Into what?!”

“Anything!”

Aya searched his brain for something to turn the energy into.  It should be something harmless.  Water?  It might turn into so much they would drown or be crushed by the weight.  Air?  He’d cause one of those strange Belt weather phenomena known as a tornado.  Now all he could think of was water and air.  Great.  Now there’d be a hurricane.

Aya’s mouth fell open in a soundless cry as his knuckles snapped, his fingers flailed back unresistingly against the escaping force.  He turned his eyes to his kein-sha: the man still knelt, sitting back on his feet looking calm, composed, perhaps a touch melancholy, but not angry.  In that moment, the energy converted.  And exploded out of control.

 

Myka scratched the back of his head with a hand as he stalled having to answer the Keeper’s question.  He hadn’t expected he’d be able to completely hush up the incident, but here he and Aya sat in front of the Keeper of St. Savin’s Holy Word, the highest priest not just in Rauston, but in all of Northland.  How utterly inconvenient that he had been in the city for the presentation of six new priests to the Rauston Citadel Church.  Of course, if what the Keeper was saying was true, it couldn’t have been kept from him even if he’d been in Paldore, the tiny fishing village on the northwest corner of Northland that was the farthest populated area away from Rauston.

“Kein-sha Myka?”

Myka looked up.  The Keeper sat behind a large mahogany desk, heavy and ornate which had been the fashion three hundred years ago when it had been constructed by Myko, one of the greatest wood craftsmen known in Northland history.  To the Keeper’s left was Brother Hopy, the head priest of Rauston, and to his left sat his highest ranked priest, the one who performed his duties when he was absent, Brother Juy.  To the Keeper’s right sat his two ministers of the east and west divisions of Northland, Sister Scanlan and Brother Yenni.  Myka’s eyes flashed across the group of five; with the exception of the Keeper, they all looked remarkably similar, even Sister Scanlan.  They were all just on the other side of middle-aged, probably in their seventies, so all still quite strong and in full possession of their faculties.  Their faculties that had recently been outraged and incensed by a teeny, tiny little incident caused by himself and his most promising and troublesome student.  They all had dark hair and muddy brown eyes that did nothing for their sallow complexion which was the result of too much time spent indoors.  Perhaps the People’s Party had a real complaint about the inadequate representation of peoples in the church’s upper echelons.  Clearly all four of them were from the capital city of Riddon or its outlaying suburbs.  The Keeper was another story.  He was in his nineties, but his mind showed no signs of decline and his body was just as fit.  He sat ramrod straight in his chair, his bushy white brows furrowed deeply over his dark grey eyes in disapproval.  It was amazing how he had so much hair sprouting out above his eyes (and from his ears) and yet his head was smooth and shiny like a peeled boiled egg.  And just as white.  But there was nothing funny about the way he looked because the grim set of his mouth and the incredibly sharp look in his eyes could make the most respectable of men quail in repentance and confess to not brushing his teeth one night before bed when he was eight but swore to his parents he had.

And yet, he wasn’t the worst of the panel.  Abutting the magnificent mahogany desk perpendicularly on either side were two very poor attempts of recreating Myko’s beautiful handiwork out of cheap poplar.  They had so obviously attempted to copy the elegant spirals and carvings of the Myko desk that the close comparison rendered them as nothing more than grotesque eyesores.  Behind the desk to his left sat the four governors of the west states and to the right, crammed a little tightly behind the desk the six governors of the east states.  Six women and four men ranging in age from the just of electable age of 45, Laella Vi of Tyce, to the decrepit 93 year old Nyder Aze of Greenstate who should have retired two terms ago.  These ten people represented the entirety of the upper house of parliament less the church representative and thus had far greater power and influence than even the five prestigious members of the church also in the room.

In the center of the three sided square, on quite uncomfortable chairs, sat Myka and Aya.  Aya slouched in his chair, eyes downcast, white-blond hair falling forward to hide his face as much as possible.  His hands were in casts, every single finger and thumb broken at the joint that connected them to his hands.  Myka had his legs crossed and kept his hands still for the most part.  Except when he was trying to avoid answering the panel’s questions without lying outright.

“Kein-sha Myka?” the Keeper repeated, his gravelly voice sounding even more like a growl than usual.  He had started the inquisition by informing everyone present that he did _not_ like to repeat himself.

Myka returned his hand to his lap and clasped them together loosely.  He didn’t want to appear anxious.  He crossed his legs in the other direction.

The governor from Klout inhaled loudly and opened her mouth.  Myka spoke before she could.  Her voice was similar to a whining squeal and she tended to be longwinded.

“It could have been worse,” Myka said.  And then cleared his throat.

There was silence for about three seconds.  Then the Keeper pounded a fist on top of the desk, the heavy wood mostly muffling the sound of the impact.

“Could have been worse?!” he roared.  He sucked in three sharp breaths, but continued in a calmer voice.  “Whatever he did resulted in a nationwide crisis.  Everyone in the city of Rauston, dropping to the ground and writhing in…well…in ecstasy!  It could be worse?  People out shopping.  In the toilet!  Poor Guy Pon was helping his grandmother cross the street when the wave hit!  Have you ever climaxed right next to your own grandmother?!”

Myka chomped down hard on the inside of his lip.  He very nearly drew blood but if he laughed or even cracked a smile right now, the Keeper just might blast the teeth out of his head.

“The wave crashed through the entire state at full power!  Diminishing in strength only so much that there were people on the verge of orgasm three states away.  People in Vess felt it!  They were suddenly struck with the desire to stop what they were doing and to… _tend_ to themselves!  Vess, kein-sha Myka!  That’s the other side of the damned continent!  It takes no less than twenty contacts just to pass along something as easy and simple as a thread of thought for a message!  It took us a hundred times as long to find out it affected them as it did for the wave to hit them!  And the poor Brothers and Sisters at the Chaste Church!  They make the ultimate penance to the Almighty and now they’ve been robbed of that.  Some of them had been chaste for sixty years!”

“Well,” Myka interjected, unable to restrain himself, “they haven’t broken their vows of chastity.  They’ve just been reminded of what it is they’re missing.  In fact,” he continued, cutting off what would surely be an irate response with a musing tone, “they should thank Aya.  If they’ve really gone so long without it, they’ve surely gotten used to it.  A little reminder will make their sacrifice today that much greater.”

There was quite a bit of grumbling and talking amongst themselves at the tables, with a couple of stifled chuckles.

“Do you think this is funny?” The Keeper snapped at Myka but clearly including everyone in the room who had found the kein’s declaration amusing.

Myka shrugged a shoulder.  “It’s a little funny.”

“It was invasive!  We live in sexual freedom so that there is no jealousy induced violence or forced sexual encounters.”

There was snort of derision from one of the governors.  Unlike the priests they did not turn a blind eye to the fact that open sexuality did not preclude either of those evils.

“It wasn’t _funny_ to the half thousand people in the Elements Warren that were hit hardest.  Some fell where they stood and injured body parts, hit their heads.  Some contorted so violently in the throes they threw out their backs, broke fingers against walls, screamed their throats raw.  It wasn’t pleasure for them!  It was so intense it was nothing but gut-wrenching, unending pain.  The aftershocks lasted for hours!  Do you have any idea what they’ve gone through?”

Myka looked up and met his eyes.  “I _was_ at ground zero,” he said dryly.

The Keeper coughed softly into his hand.  “Yes, well.”  He recovered his indignation.  “That you were there and still cannot explain adequately what happened…I formally accuse you of subterfuge.”

The panel murmured.  Myka wasn’t concerned.  That wasn’t even a real charge that could be laid against him either by civil law or as heresy.

“Your Grace,” Myka said calmly, twining his fingers casually, but subtly pointed toward the Keeper.  Under normal circumstances Myka was powerful enough to cast his will on someone as stubborn and magically potent as the Keeper with little effort, but today it would be interesting to see if he could manage it with what little magic he’d been able to recover after being drained by Aya the day before.  He could see that the Keeper wanted to cut him off, but Myka made him think he wanted to hear him out.  “Aya is blameless.  What was done was all of my doing.  He was merely following my instruction and as you can all see, he suffered more than anyone.”

Here, Aya’s plastered hands twitched.  The governor of Memmelstine clucked her tongue sympathetically.

“Let him return to his guardian.  Then we can return to the conversation.”

“You mean to say he was not complicit?  Merely a conduit for your magic?  I do not believe that.”

“I never said that,” Myka said with a touch of impatience.  Then added, “Your Grace.  Just that all he did was follow my instruction.  We cannot fault a child for obeying his kein.”

“We certainly can,” said Brother Hopy.  “He’s not a ‘child.’  Clearly he’s at least entered adolescence.  That means he’s old enough to know right from wrong.”

“True.  But the punishments for disobeying a kein are so severe I know forty year olds who still hop to attention when their old keins walk by.”

Not less than five governors and Sister Scanlan shifted uncomfortably.

“Release him to his guardian, and after you’ve dealt with me, I will discuss the events with him.”

“Hnn,” the Keeper grunted.  “You’ll be lucky if you keep your status as kein at all.  Forget about remaining his.”

“No!” Aya leapt to his feet.  “I won’t accept anyone else!  I don’t even need a kein!  I’ll learn on my own!  I’ll give up magic altogether before I accept another!”

The Keeper raised a bushy eyebrow.  “Is that so?” he asked with shrewd amusement.

“Sit down and shut up,” Myka muttered darkly, but without magic behind his words.

Aya sat down and pressed his lips together.  Myka was becoming impatient with this nonsense.  He had an agenda.  He sent his will out toward the Keeper.  He saw the man twist uncomfortably in his seat.  A sharp pain started to throb in Myka’s left temple.  He didn’t have the strength for covert suggestion, but he would be risking exposure if he spoke his compulsion aloud.  He decided the Keeper’s arrogance was so great that he probably wouldn’t even suspect it was possible for anyone to influence his mind.

“Release him,” Myka repeated.  “Please.”

“Hnn,” the Keeper snorted again.  He narrowed his eyes at Myka, but then looked at Aya.  “Young man.  Look at me.”  Aya raised his eyes, a sullen glare on his pretty features.  “You will return to your custodian.  After we have had time to discuss this matter with your kein-sha, we will call you again to discuss your part in it and how you will be disciplined.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You may go now.”

Aya glanced at Myka.  He thought about nodding to the boy, giving him _his_ permission, but he needed everyone present to be open to his plan.  And showing such outright arrogance would turn the clergy and the conservative governors against him out of principle alone.  So, he sat still, staring straight ahead at the Keeper.  Aya stood up and trudged to the door.  There were a few awkward moments while Aya struggled with the doorknob.  Myka got to his feet and opened the door for him.  With his back to the room, he gave Aya an encouraging smile and a small wink.  Aya smiled feebly back, but still looked miserable as he walked down the hall to where his guardian waited, wringing his hands.

Myka closed the door and turned around, still smiling.  All eyes were on him.

“The way I see it,” the Keeper grumbled irritably, “you can either start with what _exactly_ happened or kneel before the shrine and ask forgiveness while we decide on a fitting punishment.  Choose whichever you want, but both will happen.”

Myka turned toward the shrine to St. Savin on the raised floor that took up the left side of the room.  He bowed and brought his fingers to his lips.  Then he faced the panel.

“It hardly seems sensible that you could determine my punishment before knowing _exactly_ what happened.”

“Kein-sha Myka,” Governor Vi said very much out of turn.  Not only was she the youngest in the room, but she certainly had less authority in the matter than the Keeper himself.

“If I may,” Myka cut her off.  As a kein with fifteen years experience, he grossly outranked a first term governor.  “I wanted the boy to leave so that we may discuss what we finally have on our hands.”

The panel shifted with a few soft murmurings.

“And what do we have?” the Keeper demanded harshly.

“A way to take back what is rightfully Northland’s and the Church of the Almighty’s.  A way to safely recover the bones of St. Savin.”  A couple people gasped.  “A way to take back the Holy Land.”

There was silence.  Dust settling on the floor made more noise than the members of the panel.  Finally, Brother Yenni rasped out, “Explain yourself.”

“Aya spoke truly when he said that he needs no instructor in order to learn and use magic.  Most everything I taught him I could tell he had already done before and was only refining through my instruction.  He’s a natural.  And not only that, as you all felt yesterday, as the people in Paldore probably felt, he’s powerful.  Most people don’t even come into their full power until the onset of puberty.  Aya was manipulating a store of magic most adults only hope to attain years ago.  In fact, even at seventeen, he appears to be late coming into his manhood.  If he still hasn’t tapped his full potential yet, the power he possesses could be staggering.  A power we haven’t seen since Deyton the Martyr.”

He heard a few hissed accusations of blasphemy.  He ignored them.

“And it’s not just that he has power of his own…he can already create illusion.  He can cancel other’s spells.”

“Impossible!” Brother Hopy interjected with a thump of his fist.  “No one under forty has ever had the skill and concentration necessary to accomplish such a thing.”

Myka made a slight adjustment of his shoulders that wasn’t quite a shrug.  “I could.”

Brother Hopy was forced to grumble an acceptance of the refute to his claim.

“But more importantly, he can bind magic.”

Most of the members blinked startled eyes at him.  The Keeper let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“What do you mean?  Binding?  That is something only a large, powerful group can accomplish.”

“And I’m telling you he not only bound my magic to himself yesterday, he was drawing it from somewhere else as well.  I don’t know what the source was, but—”

The room erupted into noise.  Everyone had an opinion about that: something ludicrous and outrageous.  So dangerous an ability they couldn’t even conceive of it being possible.  The Keeper pounded on the edge of the fine mahogany desk with his well worn copy of the Holy Word.  Its resin covered binding cracked sharply through the room and everyone quieted.  The Keeper focused his intense stare on Myka.

Myka wilted a little under that scrutiny.  He’d been so obsessed with the notion of taking the Holy Land back, an idea he’d formulated even before Aya’s magic got out of control, that he didn’t stop to think of what the consequences might be of exposing Aya like this.  His passion for the Almighty and St. Savin overwhelmed his judgment.  But surely the Almighty had delivered this miracle, this boy Aya, into his hands with some divine purpose.  He straightened to stand as tall as he could, which at 170 centimeters left him somewhat lacking in height.  But he had his faith and his cause behind him.

“Myka,” the Keeper said, informally addressing his former student, “in what possible way could a child with such unruly magic aid in returning the Holy Land to us?”

“Not even a bicentury ago, the explorers Qe and Nim confirmed that not only does the kingdom of O-nam lie mostly within the borders of the Holy Land, but that the bones of St. Savin himself are insolently stored in a great barrow amongst their ancient heathen kings.  They know not what they possess or that they defile the holiest ground that any saint and the Almighty have walked upon.  We know that to take the land back by force is not a possibility.  Even with the use of our magic, we have been beaten back in dozens of wars spanning millennia.”

“Exactly,” Brother Hopy snapped.  “The people of the Belt seem to have some immunity to magic.  So what do you think one boy could possibly be capable of?”

“They are immune to illusion because it ironically,” Myka said, amused, “requires faith in the truth of the world in order to be deceived.  But they are not immune to physical manifestations of magic.  You can’t simply believe something is not burning when fire ravages it.  It is why Northland very nearly won All Nations War II.”

“But we didn’t!” Brother Hopy retorted, spittle flying from his white lips.  Brother Juy made a face and wiped the back of his hand off on the priceless desk.

Myka held back a sigh.  “If you’re interested, later we can discuss failed stratagems of conflicts past, but for now we need only be aware that the people of the Belt can be affected, inimically, by physical magic.  Fire, water, light…pressure.”

“A bomb,” the governor of Reece said with a little derision, but with a gleam in his eyes.

“Yes,” Myka said, unable to stop his smile as he saw only the successful outcome of his machinations in his mind’s eye.  “Just one bomb.”

“Explain yourself, Myka,” the Keeper said with well practiced exasperation.

“The main reason,” Myka spoke quickly, trying to rush through in the hope that most of them would be too slow-witted to keep up, “that we always lost these holy wars is because we were fighting the entirety of the Belt.  Not only is O-nam militaristically superior, it has strong allies that are willing to come to its aid even during times of intra-Belt tensions in order to fight external threats like us.  But, if there’s no one to call for aid, the Holy Land will be ours.”

“Why would there be no one to call for aid?” the Keeper asked, not on board yet, but clearly intrigued.  “You can’t seriously be suggesting that Aya release a pressure wave as all encompassing as his…pleasure wave.  It would eliminate our enemies certainly, but it if he can produce a bomb that powerful, he would obliterate the Holy Land.  There would be nothing for our people to return to.  It would destroy the hidden temples and might even collapse the barrows, forever burying St. Savin’s holy remains.”

“Well, of course we wouldn’t want a bomb that powerful.  Just one big enough to take out the royal keep and maybe the populace within the inner walls.  One big enough to exterminate the royal line.  With the royal family gone, O-nam dies.  No other countries will come to the aid of a country in chaos.  One potentially falling into civil war.  Perhaps word of an unexplainable catastrophe will keep them away in fear.  The country will be in confusion and disarray.  Surely even our incompetent military force could overwhelm and control—”

“You are forgetting the history of O-nam!” Governor Kuh of Reece interrupted him.  He looked desperately like he wanted Myka’s plan to have substance, but was too pragmatic to truly believe in it.  “Their country is older than ours.  According to the Holy Word, it’s older than the Almighty makes allowance for existence.”

“Well clearly they calculate time wrong!  They use seasons instead of the stars—”

Governor Kuh held up a slender hand, tanned rather dark for a Northlander though not so dark as Myka, to silence Governor Wim of Klout’s protest.

“You are right, Lolo, they must be wrong.  But that falsity is immaterial to the point that the country is ancient and has survived with a single intact royal blood line due to fierce loyalty and, quite frankly, superb fertility.  If even one babe remotely related to the king—or is it a queen now—survives, the country will rally.  The kingdom is too large for simply taking out the capital city to put a dent in its numbers.”

“We don’t need to do more than that to be victorious,” said Myka.  “All we need do is cut out the heart.”

“How do you propose we do that?  How will the bomb get into the city?  They certainly won’t just allow a random Northlander to wander into their royal city.  And even if you set it up at the outer wall, that does not guarantee the blast would kill everyone inside.  Even one so powerful as your student could produce.  And even if we knew for sure that everyone in the city would perish, we would never know that all of the royal family would be present.  In fact, they are so numerous, it would be doubtful they would be.  Isn’t the count of royal children we heard last at fifteen?  Or was that the ruler before?”  Governor Kuh frowned as he combed through his memory.

“The last information we received was over thirty years ago…” Myka conceded.

“And that from the questionable reliability of the Kiye peoples,” Sister Scanlan pointed out dourly.

“But it doesn’t matter how many of them there are or even if we know how many.  Now, we will need to find a way to channel current information from the kingdom.  And then we wait for the announcement of the selection of the heir.  Once he or she is chosen, they will be sent on a pilgrimage around the Belt.  This usually takes one to three years to complete.  When the heir returns, the entire _extended_ royal family will be gathered for the welcoming and the Return feast.  The entire bloodline will be gathered in one place.  In one room.  One powerful bomb will take them all out.”

“Yes,” Governor Kuh sighed again, “but the walls of the O-nam royal keep are thicker than the monoliths that make up the First Church.  I can suspend my disbelief enough to believe that boy is capable of blasting through them, but that leaves too much to chance.”

“Not at all.  He will put the bomb in the room with the royal family.”

Everyone glanced around at each other, and then back at Myka.

“Explain,” the Keeper said, bemused, propping his elbow on the desk and putting his chin on his hand.

“The pilgrimage isn’t just an opportunity for the heir to prove himself worthy of the title.  O-nam is the most powerful country in the Belt.  Any country that can win favor with the heir and future ruler, can in effect create an alliance with O-nam.  The favor of which nations receive the most support from O-nam change as the ruler does.  When the heir passes through a territory he interacts with the people—commoners, royalty, rich, poor—and often the heir selects one to join him on his pilgrimage.  By the time he returns to O-nam he has a collection of companions, some who he prefers more than others.  And to those nations go the favor during his reign.  However, regardless of who turns out to be his favorites, they all are received for the welcoming banquet.  And once they’re all inside the hall, from the youngest to the oldest of the royal blood…”

Myka trailed off.  Pleased with himself.

Dust settled again.  At last the Keeper raised his head and cleared his throat.

“So.  Your whole plan is dependent upon Aya developing a friendship with the chosen heir of O-nam so that he gets invited into the royal keep?”

Everyone else chuckled or scoffed their disgust at the idiocy of his plan.  Myka’s smile faded, but he was undeterred.

“That is the least of the problems with the plan.  I can mold him into someone the heir will want.”

“Arrogance is one of the Three,” the Keeper unnecessarily reminded him.

Myka clenched a fist in anger, but turned to the shrine, bowed, and kissed his fingers.  Then he returned his attention to the panel.

“This is not a plan that I conceived overnight.  My devotion to St. Savin and my blessing in power from the Almighty have burned in me since I was a child.  I was given a vision from St. Savin…”

More murmuring.

The Keeper narrowed his eyes.  “You never mentioned this to me, in all our long years together.”

Myka bowed his head slightly.  “St. Savin warned me against premature action.  I did not know what he truly meant until yesterday.  I always believed that I was meant to infiltrate the enemy on the Holy Land myself, but now I know I am meant to prepare Aya for this Mission.  Not only does he have the power to maintain physical changes to his appearance—not mere illusion for he cannot go as a Northlander—for a year or longer, he can create and most importantly concentrate a pressure wave so that it will not be noticeable until it is too late.  If anyone deduces he is doing something suspect, especially in the presence of the royal family, he will be killed and the magic will dissipate to nothing with his life force.  And, if we have a few years before the heir is chosen and he can come into his full power, Aya will be able to create the pressure wave in a self-contained object and will be able to escape with his life.”

Everyone in the room glanced around at each other, but nobody spoke.  Then, surprisingly, old Governor Aze spoke in his rasping croak of a voice.

“It is an inane plan.  So convoluted, so many what ifs to consider.”  He paused to catch his breath.  “The amount of cogs that must turn just right in certain places and at right times…it would surely require divine intervention.”

Myka drew breath to speak, but hesitated.  The old man continued.

“However, the resource we must spend on this plan is one troublesome child.  Even if he is discovered to be from Northland, one lone youth will not be translated as an act of war.  Even if he fails in his use of magic and only partially succeeds…terrorizing the enemy is satisfaction enough.  I see we have nothing to lose but one boy that might one day have to be bound.  And a person without magic does not have a life worth living.”

The other members murmured to each other.  Myka kept his elation in check.  Let them make the final decision on their own.

“The boy would have to be devout,” said Sister Scanlan.  “If he is unable to externalize the pressure wave in a foreign object, he must be willing to release it himself.  He must be willing to martyr himself in the name of St. Savin and the Almighty.”

“And that,” said Brother Juy, “is the fatal flaw of this lunacy.  I’ve been his interpreter in church; he is very casual about religion.  He would not sacrifice his life for the Almighty.  I doubt he even truly believes.”

“He does,” Myka retorted hotly.  “He is devout as any of us.  Maybe more so since he has been able to maintain his faith after being so horribly abused by the church.”

“That is a bold accusation!” Sister Scanlan said, her hand flying to her throat.

“Ah, everyone knows what Brother Beyas did to him,” Governor Vi muttered not quite under her breath.

The clergy at the mahogany desk all looked askew and mumbled unintelligibly.

“What did he do?” Governor Wim whispered, and though she didn’t truly speak, it still sounded shrill.

“Initiated at seven,” Governor Fos supplied.

The other governors who had not previously known of this scandal all made faces and glanced charily at the head clergy.

“He may not be devout to the Almighty,” rasped Governor Aze, “but he is clearly enamored of his kein-sha.  I can see in his eyes and feel from his heart that he would die for _him_.  Does he have nothing else that his affections are so great?”

“He lost his parents at a young age and is with his fifth guardian,” said Myka.  “He has no close family but one cousin who will be on his five year enlisted service at Fallow and therefore removed from Aya.  He has few friends as his looks have caused alienation and undue attention all his life.  His kein-shi…”  Myka shook his head.  “He has nothing and no one to tie him to this earth.  His faith in the Almighty lifts him above it.”

“His love for you ties him to it,” Governor Aze wheezed.

Myka paused to think of a way to trivialize Aya’s feelings for him.

“If that is the way of it, would not a sacrifice that is not done with a pure heart and the right intentions merely backfire on us?” Brother Juy spoke.  “Especially on the Holy Land even if it is against infidels.”

“Aya believes in the Almighty,” Myka stated again firmly.  “Devoutly.  He is also conservative in the worship at St. Savin’s altar.  I feel, if he were not called to this holier purpose, he would have eventually joined the Brothers and Sisters at Chaste Church—who are, without a doubt, the holiest among us.”

There was more grumbling and murmuring, but Myka could hear the tide turning in his favor.  It had been over two hundred years since the last holy war.  From the masses there was talk of corruption among the clergy for not being more proactive about gaining back the Holy Land.  For over five thousand years the infidels overran and desecrated the very earth where St. Savin walked among the people and bore witness to the Word of the Almighty.  There was no sacrifice too great to ask of a Northlander to make for the Almighty, St. Savin, and the Holy Land.  And Myka fully intended to fulfill his vision—he would lay hands upon the holy bones of St. Savin himself, and return him to the glorious light of the Almighty.

The room was abuzz now with plans, obstacles, solutions, and that salacious temptress herself, Hope.

The panel was startled into quiet when the Keeper slapped his holy book against the desk again.  He looked right into the heart of Myka, probing with his magic.  Myka allowed him full access to see that he had no personal ambition, only the glory of the Almighty at his core.

“You are resolved to your purpose then?”

“Absolutely.”

“It is easy to answer the call of your own soul.  Can you— _will_ you sacrifice this innocent to _your_ vision if necessary?”

Myka met his mentor’s eyes calmly.  Coolly.  “I would sacrifice myself.  Him.  My wife.  Every pure soul of Northland.  Even you.”

The other panel members went still, glancing nervously between the Keeper and the zealot.  The Keeper of the Holy Word grinned.

“Good.”


	3. Ahm

Part 1: Missions

United Calendar 1012 - 1016 (Pendrian Calendar 4325 - 4330)

 

Ahm

 

Sen readjusted her position on the sharp, black rocks of the shrine.  Her knees had gotten used to the pain and the slight shift provided new agony for her to focus on.  She peeked an eye open and saw that the two elder women who were present before her were still there kneeling on the stones against another wall in the square shrine.  She closed the eye.  She couldn’t leave before they did; they would chastise her for being too quick in her devotions.  But this wasn’t a prayer hour.  She had just stopped in to offer her pain to the Speakers that had suffered so that the word of the Almighty could be kept pure and intact through the tumultuous chaos of the many conflicts the infidels participated in on the Belt.  Those heathens that had striven to eradicate the word of the Almighty and drove His followers from the Holy Land where He first descended to speak His Truth.  The Speakers were holy for their devotion and sacrifice, but they were nothing more than people.  Sen felt it wasn’t right to pledge so much time to human idols, but she was much too young to make such a suggestion to her elders.  So, she waited.

She kept her hands in two loose fists on her thighs.  Her fingers itched to reach up and adjust her head scarf.  She was due for her weekly bath later today, but better than that she could have her monthly indulgence to wash her hair.  And she knew she needed it; the itch wasn’t just because she was ready to get up.  It had become quite a rat’s nest under the grey scarf.

Sen peeked at the women again.  Maybe they were so focused they wouldn’t even notice if she left.  They hadn’t acknowledged her when she’d entered.  And even if they did scold her, she didn’t recognize them.  They wouldn’t be able to report her to her women’s circle.  Sen felt a stab of guilt as she reached out and placed her hands against the smooth, slate walls of the shrine and pushed herself up.  She was the worst kind of sinner: she didn’t mind doing wrong so long as she didn’t get caught.  She would need to offer something during Ninth Prayer to make up for this.  Tears, or maybe blood.  Once on her feet, Sen brushed her knees off to dislodge the smaller stones that had embedded themselves in her skin.  When she straightened her grey dress rose a full decimeter above her knees.  She hadn’t bothered to sew on a new addition of cloth to the hem because she thought she would be graduated to the ankle length brown robes of a woman soon.  But the eldest woman in her women’s circle had thus far made no indication that she was ready to induct Sen into womanhood.  She would need to pray for forgiveness at Ninth Prayer for making assumptions.

As she walked over the sharp stones to the entrance to the shrine where she’d left her sandals, a particularly dutiful stone shoved itself into her arch, giving her one final reminder of the suffering endured for the sake of her soul.  Sen stumbled and hissed in a breath as she took two large steps to the relative safety of the cobblestone floor of the inner corridors of the city.  She brushed rocks off her feet and looked over her shoulder as she heard tsking noises.  The elder women were looking at her disapprovingly.  Sen turned her back on them and put on her sandals, tying them on tightly around the backs of her heels.  It was easy for them to be critical, they got to kneel on the rocks with their robes giving them some relief.  If they were truly devout, they should have pulled them up to their thighs before kneeling.  Sen would need to pray for judging others at Ninth Prayer.

She left the shrine behind and entered the narrow cobblestone corridors edged by cold grey stone walls reaching up to three times her height on either side.  She looked up to find the position of the sun in the sky.  She should probably hurry.  Sen broke into a light jog fairly confident she wouldn’t run into anyone else at this hour and promised to atone for breaking the vow of stillness at Ninth Prayer.  She glanced at the sun again as she jogged.  In a very rare display it was out and shining brightly in the unseasonably warm and pleasant weather.  These were ill omens recognizable even to a girl as young as she.  The Almighty was testing them; she would need to be penitent today.  It helped that she was cramping from menstruating, the blood and tissues sticking to her inner thighs a holy reminder of the blood price to be paid by sinners who would use reproduction as a way to sate the unnatural lust of the devil.  Sen counted the days she’d been menstruating in her head, nearly five.  Perhaps it had stopped now and she could wash herself.  She’d only begun a little over a year ago, so it was still irregular, but five days should be enough time for reflection.  It really was uncomfortable to let it go for too long.  Then she sighed.  Now she would have to ask for forgiveness at Ninth Prayer for disparaging the Almighty’s holy burden.  And she’d have to ask for forgiveness about being annoyed at having to do so.  What was wrong with her?  Why was she so wicked?  She always had scores of sins and transgressions she had to pray for at the prayer hours.  It was amazing how much sin a person could commit in three hours.  Even the midnight prayers could be lengthy if she’d had strange dreams.  Though since dreams were messages from the Almighty, she hardly understood how she was responsible for them.  Now she had to pray for forgiveness for blaming the Almighty for her wickedness.

The labyrinth of City Three twisted and turned around her as she jogged down one corridor and then another.  But she rarely got lost anymore.  She recognized the unique cracks and chips of certain alleyways, and the corridor that lead to the food hall was easy to pick out due to the stone being stained with soot along the top.  She took note of a cluster of broken cobblestones at the corner of two alleyways and made a mental note of where it was.  She would need to report it to the masonry to be fixed.  She wondered if the men’s quarters were as well maintained as the women’s.  Now she was going to have to ask forgiveness for thinking about men.  Why wouldn’t the devil just leave her alone and find someone else to pick on?

Sen careened around a corner and skidded to a halt in the sudden opening that marked the common area of the dorms she shared with nine other women.  Technically ten with the baby.  And it was the baby and her bearer that was the focus of the three elder women and the two middle aged ones of her circle.  The two women that were the same age as the bearer were not in the courtyard and the other young one, Dob, who was a few years younger than Sen, knelt at the fountain absently washing some earthenware dishes as she eavesdropped on the scene.  Sen would need to point this out to her to make sure she repented for it at Ninth Prayer.  Sen hugged the walls of the courtyard so as not to disturb her elders in order to get around to the fountain.  Then she heard what they were talking about.  Not because she was eavesdropping, but because they were speaking in raised voices.  A twofold sin for breaking the rule of quiet and for the arrogance of believing what you had to say was any more important than what someone else had to say.  Sen knelt next to Dob and listened.

“This child has the devil in it,” said Ob.  “It is unnatural.”

The bearer pursed her lips and shifted the baby on her hip while it happily played with the simple beads of her prayer necklace.

“It almost never cries,” spoke the oldest of the elder women, Li.  “I’ve never known a child to not find complaint with the world.  It is our sacred duty to teach children to appreciate the trials the Almighty puts us through every day.  A child that finds pleasure in life is touched by evil.”

“It always smiles and laughs!  Like it sees the antics of shades and gremlins.”  Ons spoke always to agree with Li, but Sen suspected this distrust toward the baby had more to do with her animosity toward the bearer, Kyn.  Ons was middle-aged now, and had been sent to the conception hall an embarrassing number of times, but had never borne a child.  Kyn had conceived on her first visit and would therefore never have to endure the touch of a man again whereas Ons must have suffered through the painful experience the maximum of ten times.  Sen had no doubt Ons’ extra harsh treatment of Kyn stemmed from that.  Now she was going to have to pray for being so presumptuous as to think she knew other’s thoughts and for thinking so ill of one of her elders.  Maybe she should just start praying now.

“I can do nothing for her laughing,” said Kyn.  “She is not old enough to understand speech or reason yet.  She does not know that the pleasures of the world are evils she must rail against.  She will learn, in due time.”

“It would be one thing if it merely enjoyed the pleasures it should not,” said the elder woman Tô.  “But it shows no signs of suffering.”

“Then I will take her to the flagellation hall.  I promise I will make her cry,” Kyn said, a little desperately.  “Our lives here are so piously lived due to you elders’ wise guidance.  She hasn’t had a chance to experience the joys of pain or sickness…”

“You would blame us for the child’s unnaturalness?” Ob reeled back a step and spoke in the loudest voice Sen had ever heard in her life.

“No!  Of course not!” Kyn said, on the verge of tears.  “I praise you for your excellent care of us.  It is my failing entirely for not trying to explain to her the evils and tricks of the devil.  I know now I have waited too long to begin her education.  I didn’t know I should start so young.  I was removed from my first circle before anyone bore children and since I have been here I am the first to bear one, so—”

Ons slapped Kyn hard across the face.  “You are an insolent braggart!  Taking pride in the fact that you copulated with a male!”

“No…” Kyn sobbed weakly.

“Ons,” Li said disapprovingly, but did nothing to reprimand her for the sin of violence.

“I know why the child is always filled with such pleasure!” Ons continued, a terrible smile on her face and a cruel glint in her eyes.  “It was infused with the unholy joy of the devil when it was conceived.  You and the man chosen to mate took pleasure in your coupling!”

The other women gasped and Sen and Dob covered their mouths with their hands in shock at the words.  Sen had never heard so many references to…copulation…in one conversation in all her life.  She added thinking about copulation to her list for Ninth Prayer.

Kyn was flushed red right up to the hairline where her headscarf covered her beautiful golden hair.  Sen knew it was a devil tainted golden blonde because she’d accidentally seen Kyn washing it late at night a few years back when she’d gotten out of bed to get a cup of water.  A cup of water she hadn’t asked for permission to get.  When she’d confessed in the morning, she’d been beaten until her blood could quench her unnatural thirst.  It had been Ob who had accused her of being unnatural too.

“I took no pleasure!” Kyn sobbed.  “I cried the whole time and prayed to the Almighty to forgive the wickedness of mankind that requires such unclean contact between the sexes.  I kept my mind on the Almighty and endured the trial He put before me.  It was a painful experience and I took heart that the Almighty would make the experience so terrible so that I would know how truly evil it is.  I prayed that I would conceive at once so that I might never defile the body that belongs to the Almighty alone ever again!  I certainly didn’t enjoy it enough to copulate ten times!”

Ons screamed and lunged for Kyn’s throat much too fast for the other women to stop her before she got her fingers around the delicate, white flesh.  By comparison, Ons’ calloused and roughened red hands looked like divine suffering.  Sen got to her feet as she watched the knot of women scream and struggle against each other.  She was horrified.  Surely, other women’s circles would hear this racket and come to investigate.  They would all be punished.  Even Jut and Fe who were not present.  Their whole circle would be deemed tainted with the mischief of the devil.  Sen could practically hear him laughing.

Just as she feared, as the screaming, slapping, and tearing continued amongst the five women, though Li looked like she was trying to extract herself, a dozen or more women poured into their courtyard.  Hands flew to throats and mouths in horror as the investigators took in the loud, violent scene.  Sen started to move forward, but then stopped.  She wasn’t sure if she should intervene in the fight or run to the safety of the other women.  Perhaps she still appeared young enough not to be responsible for this madness.

Then Kyn screamed in horror.  There was a brutal shove and the knot pitched to one side.  The baby must have been thrown from her bearer’s arms for she did not simply fall to the ground, but was flung violently outward.  There was a squishy thump that marked her landing and caused the scrabbling women to stand stock still.  Everyone stared at the unmoving tangle of tiny arms and legs on the ground.  Then it twitched, and a weak keening sound emanated from it.  Everyone stood in horror as they watched the baby—unable to move its splintered limbs—listened to it with increasing nausea as her breath gurgled over blood.  Something grey and pink leaked from a gash in her head.  But it wasn’t just the skin that was broken, Sen noticed, there was the soft pliable bone of the baby’s skull sticking out with a patch of downy blonde baby hair on it.

Everyone jumped as the silence was broken by an agonized cry.  Kyn dropped to her knees beside the body and continued to wail as she stared at her dying child, her hands outstretched, but not touching her.  Sen felt like something solid hit her square in the chest.  The pressure and the agony of seeing little Aan suffering and dying made her feel like she was dying herself.  Maybe it went against the Almighty to like an unnatural child like Aan who was always happy, but that was exactly why Sen had liked her.  She was a bright spot in an otherwise grey and evil world.  Sen had never thought her touched by the devil.  She was too young, still innocent, still wrapped in the protective arms of the Almighty to be a harbinger of evil.  Sen crossed the courtyard, pulling the strings loose that tied her amulet to her wrist.  She would be punished severely for this, but it was the Almighty’s choice whether her interference would succeed or not.  She excelled in healing magics, though to bring back the dying was a tall order.  But she knew she could do it.  She’d healed a half dead bird three weeks back.  A baby could be no different.  It would be up to the others to determine if she was channeling the devil’s power and not the Almighty’s.

Sen knelt next to the body and squeezed the amulet in her hand.  She chanted the words to bring the threads of air magic to her will under her breath.  She tasked the air to find the materials she needed to repair the damage.  With each careful chant, more than a few words changed from doctrine to her own that she had found to be more effective, she squeezed the amulet tighter, forcing the eight sharp points to cut into her skin.  She added a couple of words to the end of the air chant to call on the strength of the stone.  She willed its strength into Aan so that she would live long enough for the air to bring back what she needed to be healed.  She called on light to fill her with the power to see her through to the end.  She squeezed the amulet tighter.

The air returned with a sudden circular blast around Sen and the baby.  The others present gasped as the strong wind pushed them back.  Kyn fell over from the pressure.  Sen didn’t falter in her chanting even though she had three separate elements she had to keep quite separate and under control.  She squeezed her hand to the point that her tendons strained with the effort—then at last, dark, fat drops of her lifeblood fell from her hand onto the baby’s head.  The wind surged in with the materials it had brought and began to knit the baby together.  Sen pulled stronger on the light so she could see inside the body to make sure the air was not forgetting to heal internally.

Quite recklessly, Sen added a fourth chant to her mantra, but she did not call on another element: it was a prayer to the Almighty.  She knew it always felt like it took longer than it really did when she manipulated multiple elements at a time, but even so the sun had moved position ever so slightly by the time the air rushed away from her, done with its task.  Sen allowed the light to pull back, but kept it close by.  The stone she encouraged to infuse as much strength as possible into Aan.  Sen reached out with her free hand and slowly unfolded the baby from its awkward position.  It lay on its back, appearing whole.  The light tugged to get away from her.  It had received no offering of tears and would not stay without them.  Sen let it go.  Then she eased the stone’s spirit back into the earth.  She lowered her left hand, her arm sore and shaking with the strain of clenching her amulet so tightly.  She had to use her other hand to pry her fingers loose from its hold on the metal and quartz amulet.

Aan opened her eyes.  There was a collective hushed gasp from the gathered crowd.  Aan looked around and stiffly moved one arm.  Then her face screwed up and turned bright red, and then she began to bawl loudly and unhappily.

Sen smiled weakly and sat back on her feet.  She’d done it.  She looked up at the crowd.  Many were making warding signs against the devil as they looked at her.  Ob spit at the ground near her.  Sen knew true fear for the first time in her life.  She would be crucified for using the devils’ magic.  If only they understood it was all from the Almighty.  And now she had cursed the baby to an even worse fate.  She would receive no consecrated burial, but be burned to nothing to remove her from the world completely.  Possibly burned alive.  Sen looked at Kyn.  She was staring at her with a mixture of horror and…gratitude?  Kyn looked at the squalling baby.  She clenched her jaw and set her mouth in a grim line.  She reached forward and picked up her baby, pulling her close and trying to comfort her.  Most likely anyone else would have shunned the child, but Kyn had a purer soul than most.  Sen took some comfort from that.  Maybe they would let Kyn and Aan live in exile outside the walls.  Perhaps they could be sent to another city after being cleansed.

Then Sen’s brow creased in anger.  They didn’t need to be cleansed.  She had done nothing wrong.  There was no devilry in her manipulation.  The elder woman Ge, quite possibly the oldest woman in the world as far as Sen could tell, had taught her how to control more than one element at a time.  Everyone respected Ge for her piety and devotion to the Almighty.  Surely she would not have taught her anything evil.

Sen got to her feet and stared down the dozens of eyes gawking at her.

“I do the work of the Almighty and no one else,” she declared firmly.

Then too late she saw Li stop her muttering and spit onto her amulet.  All Sen could do was watch the spark as it flew from the amulet to her head.  She was aware of falling, but passed out before she hit the ground.

 

The first thing she became aware of was pain.  Not a good, sharp pain of worship, but a dull, throbbing ache bouncing back and forth between her temples.  As she concentrated on it as it traveled around her skull, she began to feel nauseated.  She swallowed back a bitter spurt of bile and knew she was going to throw up.  She was lying on her back.  She couldn’t even contemplate rolling over.  If she threw up now she’d choke on it.  So, she stopped thinking and focused only on her breathing.  The pain didn’t subside but the nausea became manageable.  What in the word of the Almighty had happened?  No, this had nothing to do with the Almighty.  This had to be the devil’s work.  What the hell was his problem anyway?  Sen frowned.  More penance needed at Ninth Prayer.

Then she was alarmed.  What time was it?  Had she missed Ninth Prayer?  Even with her eyes closed it seemed dark wherever she was.  Had they sealed her in a cave for her impiety?  Then she was confused.  What had she done again?

“It is all well and good to say it is a sign from the Almighty, but it could just as easily be a trick of the devil.”

The voice would have startled Sen, but all it did was aggravate the pounding that had subsided somewhat.  Since her brain was too focused on the pain in her head to wonder at why this person would be in a room with her, she was able to identify the voice without reservation as that of the elder woman Aa.  She was the spiritual head of the women in City Three and lead the masses held four times a day and once during the dead of night.  The great church had been designed with genius acoustics so that no matter where in the vast chamber a woman knelt, the speaker’s voice carried clearly.  And elder woman Aa had a distinct voice: low and powerful and with just the slightest trace of an accent of the people born and raised in City Twelve.

“Bah!” a gravelly voice had the audacity to outright dismiss the head spiritual woman’s notion.  “The devil is not so powerful as the Almighty.  Only the Almighty can control all the elements.  The power comes from Him alone.”

That was elder woman Ge.  Then a third person spoke.  There was something very wrong with her voice.  It was quite deep and had a strange though not unpleasant timbre.

“Of course all power comes from the Almighty.  Even what the devil uses he steals from Him.  It is how we use the power that determines if we do the work of the Almighty or His eternal enemy.”

“That is quite a heretical view, Su,” Aa said wryly.

“Only to you.  We have access to the full texts and know the Truth of the matter.  Which is why I petition, again, that the child be allowed to study under our greatest worshipper.  She’s learned all she can from Ge.  With all due respect.”  She heard the movement of cloth as someone made a gesture.

“It is preposterous,” Aa stated firmly, but calmly.  These three were not arguing, but discussing.  “It goes against all doctrine.  Even if we don’t have full access to the texts, we can both agree on how wrong it would be.”

“She would be sequestered and shrouded at all times, of course.  And allowed to return to her dwelling after her lessons.”

“No one would take her back if they knew,” Aa pointed out.

“None from the west quarter no doubt,” said Ge, “or even the north since she prays at their shrines often.  But she could be fostered in a new circle in the east or south where no one knows her.  She is due to be inducted into womanhood and would therefore be changing circles anyway.  Her new circle need only know she has been selected for special instruction; not where or by whom it is being conducted.”

“You speak wisely,” the stranger said with a soft chuckle.

“I should,” said Ge with teasing tartness.  “I’m as old as you two youngsters put together.”

“I still disagree,” said Aa.  “It is improper.  It will tarnish the poor girl’s soul.  We have no right to do that to her.”

“We could ask of course,” said Ge, “but she is devout.  She would do anything to further the glory of the Almighty.”

“Besides,” the stranger said, “she will be exposed eventually when we send her on her Mission.  Better to expose her early.”

“A Mission to further the glory of the Almighty, but one that will sentence her to exile for the rest of her life!  It is a cruel thing to ask of anyone that they be turned away from the only people who know the Truth of the world.  She could never come back.”

“She wouldn’t come back,” the Stranger stated, somewhat coldly to Sen’s ears.  “This Mission will require the ultimate sacrifice.  Of course.  It would be the only way to cleanse her soul for breaking almost every covenant we hold sacred.”

There was silence as the three let the stranger’s words hang in the air.  Who the devil were they talking about?  Sen opened her eyes and found why it was so dark: she had a thick black blanket pulled over her head.  It was itching her nose and making it uncomfortable to breathe, but she was hesitant to remove it.  The migraine was slowly passing but light may trigger it again.

“What did that elder woman do to her?” the stranger asked.  “Surely she should be awake by now.”

“I am awake!” Sen called out, but it was barely more than a whisper through her parched lips.  She didn’t want them to think she was listening in on a private conversation.  She couldn’t sit up she knew, but she reached up a hand to tug weakly at the blanket.  It was hard to move because it appeared to be going over and under her head.  She managed to lift her head a couple of centimeters to make the blanket move—but still it was difficult.  It was a hood.

“Oh, do not, child!”  Aa put her hand over Sen’s wrist to still her movements.  Sen took comfort in the contact even though she couldn’t feel her skin through the blanket.  “Do you feel you can sit up, Sen?”

Sen considered that.  “Maybe.”

She felt Aa sit beside her on the cot and put a strong arm behind her shoulders.  The hood must reach below her shoulders for she could not feel the warmth of the woman’s arm through her thin dress.  Sen held back her moan as she sat up, but was delighted to find that the migraine had dissipated to a strong headache and she felt no other aches and pains in her body.  Except for a mild discomfort in her left hand where the amulet had bit in.  Then it all came rushing back.

“The baby!” she croaked.  “Do not punish Aan for—” Sen broke off and coughed.  She just didn’t have enough saliva to speak.

“Here, child,” Ge said.  There was some fumbling with the overly long hood and Sen felt the handle of an earthenware mug pressed into her uninjured hand.  She grasped it and attempted to lift it up, but the black material was in her way.  She started to bring her hands out, but Aa or possibly Ge stopped her.

“Draw it up under the Concealer to your lips.”

Sen was momentarily frozen.  It hadn’t even occurred to her she was in a Concealer: an all black garment that really was little more than a thick blanket that covered a person from head to toe in the rare instances a female had to meet in person with a male.  Perhaps they had put it on her to prevent light from getting into her eyes when she woke.  Surely it was expected she would have a headache after elder woman Li hit her with that spark.  She still wasn’t sure what element one called on to make the destructive little balls of light and heat.  Sen maneuvered the mug to her lips and drank the tepid water hastily, dribbling some down the sides of her mouth and over her chin.

“Kyn and the baby will not be punished,” Aa said gently.  “They will be sent to a new circle in City Four.”

Sen sighed relief and whispered a prayer of thanks to the Almighty.  Then she spoke aloud, “I only meant to help…” she said miserably.

“We understand that,” Ge said.  “At least Su and I do.  You have a gift with the elements, child.  An affinity to the very being of the Almighty Himself.”

Sen was stupefied by such words.  It would be so arrogant for one to claim such a connection to the Almighty in reference to themselves.  And why would they ever lay such an accusation on another?  Why would Ge?  She thought the old woman like her…

“The Almighty truly holds you among his most blessed,” said the stranger who must be Su.  Her voice really was so odd.

“I cannot accept such praise,” Sen stammered.

“For you are a good, pious girl, Sen,” Ge said, patting her leg through the Concealer.  “It is why we know you will have the fortitude to fulfill your holy Mission.”

Sen swallowed.  She heard the emphasis and importance laid on that word.  “Mission?”

“To reclaim the Holy Lands,” Su said in her strange voice.  Sen shivered at the barely repressed manic tone.

“H-how could I possibly do that?”

“With the ability to control and combine multiple elements into one product…you can make what is known as a force surge.  And you, I believe, could make a very powerful one.”

Sen shook her head slightly, and then reached a hand up to scratch her nose under the Concealer.

“I know the words, but I do not understand what is a force…surge?”

“You’ll learn once you learn how to make one.  The important thing is that we know you believe in the Almighty with all your heart—”

“I do!  With _all_ my heart!”  Sen tried to put her hand to her chest, but the cumbersome garment made it awkward.

“And would do anything for the greater glory of Him.  Make any sacrifice.”

“There is nothing I possess that is too great to offer in His honor.”

“Even your life?”

“Especially my life.  I only live because the Almighty wills it so.  Even if I sacrifice my life in this physical world I will live again in His kingdom.”

Su laughed and Sen cringed at the sound.

“Perfect!”  She clapped her hands together.  “That is faith at its strongest.  We can trust her utterly.  Even with the temptations from the outside.”

Sen didn’t exactly like the way Su was talking about her like she knew her.  Especially in that unnatural voice.  And the Concealer was more annoying than kneeling on the sharp rocks at the Speakers’ shrine.

“Elder woman Aa,” Sen started, grappling with the Concealer.  “My headache is much better.  I don’t think the light will hurt me.  May I remove the Concealer?”

“No, child!” Aa gasped and Ge forced her arms into stillness.

The fear and worry washed over her so strongly it felt like a wave of nauseous guilt.  What had she done?

“Forgive me, Sen,” Aa continued, “I should have told you earlier.  Su is a man.”

Sen couldn’t repress the shocked gasp that burst out of her.  She tried desperately to remember if she had used any words that should only be spoken by and in front of women.  She heard Su laugh again.  In that deep, strangely toned voice.  Is that what a man sounded like?  It wasn’t altogether an unpleasant sound.  It was his words that disturbed her.

“You see, Sen,” Ge said, “the simultaneous manipulation of multiple elements is a male art.  It is taught in the male texts.”

“Male texts?” Sen questioned.  She’d never heard of there being more than just the Word of the Almighty.

“Yes,” said Aa.  “The Almighty has gifted them with additional sacred knowledge as a reward for the mightier work men have done in His honor.”

“Mightier?” Sen mumbled to herself.  “Doesn’t the Word say that males and females are equal in all things?”

“So it does,” Su agreed.  “Surely the fact that men have access to part of the Word that women do not is unfair?”

Sen heard the humor in his voice.  He was testing her, but she wasn’t sure about what.  She figured she was already in unforgivable trouble as it was, so she might as well be honest.

“If the Almighty saw fit to give to men what He hides from women, then that is not unfair, it is just by His diktat.  However, if these texts, which were transcribed from the Almighty’s Word were kept from women by the actions of men, then it is not unfair but blasphemous as it goes against the Almighty’s will.”

“Sen!” Aa gasped.

But Su laughed again, in his odd male voice.  It made her shiver again to feel it roll over her skin.  Though this time it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“She’s right, is she not?  The real question is whose decision was it to separate the texts?  We may never know, but I’m sure that if a woman could be the one to return the Holy Lands to the Chosen People that there could be no argument made to keep any of the Almighty’s Word from women.  In fact, Sen may be proof that men and women are not equal at all.  Women may in fact be superior.  We’ve been searching for generations for someone to have the ability to accomplish the Mission and eradicate the infidel bloodline that holds the lands of the Almighty and His Chosen People unjustly.  And now we have found it in a girl who can do on her own what scores of boys with instruction and practice could not.”

“Well, she had _some_ instruction,” grumbled Ge.

“Yes, elder woman, Ge,” Su said with that amused voice of his.  Sen was starting to think it was somewhat mocking.

“I-I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with me or how I could possibly do something here that could affect the false rulers in the Holy Lands.”  Sen was still convinced they were testing her somehow.  Maybe to see if she was arrogant enough to believe she could fulfill the holiest of Missions by herself.

“We will teach you all of that, Sen,” Su said, somewhat impatiently.  “In fact, it remains to be seen if you are capable of it.  All we need from you now is to know that you have the will to try and see it through to whatever end.”

“I would do anything for the Almighty and the spreading of His Word.”

“Would you break sacred laws to do this?”

Sen’s brow creased in confusion.  “If I have to break the Almighty’s laws, then is not what I’m doing working against Him?”

“You understand that the Holy Lands are under the control of infidels, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then you cannot commit sacrilege against them.  The Mission will require deception, but there is no shame or sin in deceiving non-believers.  Not when you do so for the glory of the Almighty.”

“I suppose…”

“And since this Mission will require you to go to the Belt—”

When she tried to gasp and speak at the same time it came out as a croaking cough.

“You will have to mix in the company of men.  And be exposed to them.”

“Elder woman Ge!” Sen cried.  “You cannot ask me to shame myself that way!  The Almighty would never approve of it!  I could never show my face to women again!”

“Sen,” Ge said compassionately, rubbing her shoulder.  “We—”

“You are quite right,” Su said sharply.  “It would be an unforgivable affront to the Almighty to expose yourself as you must to accomplish this Mission.  As it says in His Word.  However, you must also surely know that if a person sacrifices their life in a holy mission for the glory of the Almighty, that person is absolved of all sin, great and small, and given a place of highest honor as one of the Almighty’s favored disciples in His kingdom.  Is that not also written?”

“Y-yes.”

“Can you think of a better way to honor and praise the Almighty than to give your life for Him?”

Sen paused to think on that.  Then answered confidently, “No, there is no greater honor.”

“And there is no task too great or action too vile in order to accomplish that.”

That wasn’t a question, so Sen didn’t answer.

“Well then,” Su said.  “I believe that settles everything.  The child shall be brought to the combined hall each morning at dawn and returned at sunset.  I leave it in your hands to find her suitable overnight accommodations.”

“When do you wish begin?” Aa said, sounding like she was overwhelmed by the decisiveness of the man.

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“Yes, immediately.  We don’t know how much time we will have to train her.  It could be months or years.  It could be days.  It all depends on when the next heir is chosen to begin his or her transcontinental journey.  We must also have time to prepare her to integrate with one of the cultures on the Belt.  She must blend in.  The heir cannot suspect anything.  She must be admitted to the inner chambers of the royal keep.”

Sen was starting to feel dizzy again.  She couldn’t understand half of what Su meant though she knew all the words.  The only thing she knew for sure was that they expected her to leave Ahm, go to the Belt, and sacrifice her life in a Holy Mission.  It’d be funny if it weren’t so terrifying.

The adults continued to discuss her schedule, her training, her new life, and her death with casual aplomb.  It was scary, but in a way, it was nice.  It was so hard to be constantly aware of every action, every thought, every decision.  Despite the petrifying unknown she would face when—if—she was dispatched to the Belt (a place she had no concept of where it might be or what it exactly was except that the Holy Lands were there and under the control of the infidels) it would be easier to have others make her decisions for her from now on.  Until the end of her life.

Sen felt a weight lifted off her shoulders.  She felt at ease for the first time in her life.  Truly, the Almighty had blessed her by choosing her for this Mission.


	4. O-nam

Part 1: Missions

United Calendar 1012 - 1016 (Pendrian Calendar 4325 - 4330)

O-nam

Fire bounced his knees under his desk and twisted the balls of his feet against the floor.  He checked the clock on the wall again.  His eyes nearly popped out of his head.  It had been five minutes to the end of class ten minutes ago!  He yelped and jumped half out of his chair as the dense wooden cane the teacher used to point out his lessons on the chalkboard swished a centimeter from his nose and crashed onto his desk.  The other children giggled nervously; it had scared them too.  Fire looked up at Scholar Inker.  He was the only teacher who had no qualms about treating the royal family exactly the same as everybody else, including when it came to corporal punishment.  His older brother, Leaffall, had fine white scars crisscrossing the backs of his hands he had been so obstinate at Fire’s age.  Or so Scholar Inker constantly informed him.

“Do you have somewhere you would rather be?” Scholar Inker demanded to know.

His uneven squiggle of brows arched disapprovingly over watery eyes that were deceptively bleary looking: he missed nothing his rowdy students tried to get past him.  Fire was distracted from answering as he felt himself mesmerized by the slowly undulating creases and folds of his wizened skin, like a mouse caught in the serpent’s trance.  Scholar Inker rapped his cane on the wood floor of the classroom tartly.

“Fire of the Blood!  Close your gaping maw!  Our ancestors help us if you are even a poor representative of our royal family.  O-nam will fall to ruin if we must rely on slack-jawed buffoons to guide us and shield us from our enemies!”

Fire wanted to close his mouth, but he was having trouble following the old man’s rambling.  If he was a poor excuse, then didn’t it stand to reason that with eleven living siblings, surely one or even two of them would be a clever, motivated champion who the people of the country could admire and follow with confidence?  He felt the student behind him try to discreetly nudge his chair to jar him from his stupefaction.  Fire sat up straight, blinked his eyes rapidly to clear his vision, and snapped his mouth shut.  But Scholar Inker missed nothing.

“Jenmay Soyfield, if you enjoy kicking things with your toes so much then you can have no objection to coming to the front of the room and kicking your toes against the wall for the rest of class.”

The rest of the students were so silent and so still so as to escape notice that it was possible to hear everyone’s eyeballs turn in their heads as they looked at Jenmay.  The boy repressed a sigh and stood up to make his way to the front of the room.  He’d hit his second growth spurt in as many months and towered over Scholar Inker as he passed him, but there was little doubt as to who was more intimidating.  Jenmay stood in front of the wall and then began to tap his foot against it: tump, tump tump.

“Now,” Scholar Inker snapped, cracking his gaze over the rest of his students.  “Algebra.”

The clock struck the seventh hour of the day, but no one dared move.  There was the gentle creak of twenty plus desks leaning slightly toward the door, and the tump tump tump of Jenmay’s foot.  Scholar Inker used his cane to hobble slowly to his desk next to the chalkboard.  It was amazing how he could strike with the speed of a snake with that cane, and yet ambled like a massive hog when it came time to dismissing his students for lunch or at the end of the day.  The old teacher eased himself into his desk and then folded his gnarled hands atop his cane, shaking out the voluminous sleeves of his robe.  There was a collective intake of air.

“Class dismissed.”

As quickly as possible, but also trying not to make it seem like they were running for their lives, the students gathered their notebooks of precious, expensive paper and darted for the door.  Out in the hall students from other classrooms were already storing their notebooks in the communal airtight trunks that lined the walls.  They hadn’t been held hostage by a sadist’s whim.

“Hey, Jenmay,” Fire got his attention with a hand to his arm.  He was so much taller than he, Fire was afraid he wouldn’t hear him in the din of murmuring students.  Fire made a slight face as he looked around.  Almost everyone was taller than he since he graduated to mid-level schooling.  He was younger than most by a year, but Fire was worried that didn’t fully account for it and he’d be short all his life.

“Hey, Fire,” Jenmay smiled at him, a tooth missing on the upper left side where he’d lost it in a fight last year.  The other guy’s nose had a permanent kink in it.

“Sorry for getting you in trouble with the Snake.”

Jenmay laughed.  “Trouble.  Ha.  That old man has no real power.  Why do you think he bosses around a bunch of kids?  Besides, you are of the Blood, and I would do anything to protect and serve you.”

Fire flushed and felt extremely awkward.  “Um.  Thanks.”

Jenmay shrugged.  “I also don’t think you’re a poor excuse for a royal.  You have a mild temper and a sense of fairness.  I saw what you did for Canyon Smithy last term.  Someone in your position could have really abused your status and made things worse for him.  But you never do.  Just like you leave your notebooks here even though you could easily afford more if something happened to yours.  But you have to study here like the rest of us slubs.”

Fire couldn’t find words to formulate any sort of response.  He disliked being praised for things he did that had very little to do with any excellence of his character and more to do with his intense dislike of confrontation.

Jenmay gave him a friendly pat on his shoulder, but his eyes were focused over his head.

“Target sighted, my liege.  I’ll report back with my results tomorrow.”

He had a grin on his face as he carelessly dropped his notebook in the pile in the foot locker and made his way through the crowded hall toward Veyo Shearer.  She wasn’t the most attractive girl in their school, but she had definitely filled out first.  Fire was still recovering from yet another flush of mortification.  What Jenmay had said to him had been a bastardization of the way the citizens of O-nam made pledges to their ruling sovereign.  Fire wasn’t even a recognized heir.  Doubted he was on his father’s short list.  He didn’t like people treating him special.  Different yes, as a member of the Blood he was separate from the masses, but always equal.  To be treated special meant there was something remarkable about him that had earned such exaltation.  If he let anyone believe that of him he’d be a fraud.  But Jenmay was already down the hall, using his height to scare off Veyo’s other suitors.  Fire sighed.  He’d have to say something to Jenmay about it tomorrow.  Or maybe the next day.  Or maybe he could wait until the next time he did it.  Because if he only did once, well, then that meant nothing.

Fire carefully placed his notebooks in the foot locker assigned to his grade and suddenly remembered why he had been so jittery and excited in class.  He hustled down the hallway, trying not to skip as he made his way to the main entrance with dozens of other students.  He pulled his blue student’s robe off as he hit the stairs and loosened the boned collar of his white shirt.  He’d begged his parents to let him attend school and not just have lessons with the royal tutors, but they could have at least let him attend a public school without uniforms.  These things were ridiculous.

The air was quite warm as they were experiencing a Draeden Summer, a sudden burst of heat after cooler autumn air had moved in.  Despite his namesake he preferred cold to heat and hoped cooler temperatures would return soon.  The wool of his uniform trousers and shirt was itchy at the best of times and stifling in heat.  At least the humidity hadn’t returned as well.

Fire stood at the bottom corner of the sandstone steps next to the rectangular pillar that rose up five meters above his head topped with some two footed horned beast his people had no name for.  He looked down at the expanse of Shrija.  The school was carved into the side of a sandstone cliff on a high, but gently sloping hill at the north of the city.  The initial structure actually predated the city, its original purpose unknown, but the thick walls made it ideal to minimize sound from classroom to classroom.  The lack of natural light had resulted in the invention of new kind of lantern that illuminated four times as brightly as a regular hurricane lamp and used half the oil.  However, extra ventilation had been required to be carved into the classrooms so they wouldn’t all asphyxiate before final bell.  Fire didn’t know why they wouldn’t just build a little structure out an in open space and use natural light and let in fresh air.  Well, schools like that did exist, but they weren’t as prestigious as the School on the Hill.  And surely the ancestors would turn in their barrows if any member of the Blood didn’t excel in all things.  And Fire’s father interpreted that to mean that whatever was agreed to be the best by the majority must be the best.  Not necessarily a wrong philosophy, but certainly flawed in logic.

Fire put up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun that was almost directly overhead.  The tall buildings of Shrija were unique to the capitol city, averaging a full eight to ten stories and built so close together they practically used the building next door as one of their own walls.  Such clutter could easily be an eyesore on the green and brown patches of fields and orchards that surrounded the city, but the stucco walls with their terracotta tile roofs were a pleasing mixture of soft pinks, oranges, and yellows with a smattering of sky blue.  The city was beautiful when seen from a distance and casually hid the bustling chaos of life within the walls.  The only blemish was the hard, dark grey blot in the middle: the royal keep, made thousands of years ago with slabs of stone as thick as he was tall.  Truly Shrija was one of the richest and most prosperous cities in all of the Belt, outshining all others of O-nam with ease.  It was often said no other place in the world could be worthy of the name Shrija.  Though Fire had learned the word was derived from the old language and simply meant “settlement.”  In that case, wouldn’t every city, town, and village in the world be worthy of the name?

A steady river of students was winding its way down the well worn path from the school toward the city walls, about half a kilometer away.  Fire’s destination lay a good five kilometers behind the school to the north.  Nearly a kilometer of that was a very dim tunnel that cut through the sandstone cliff.  He’d promised to wait for Pria, who was bringing horses, at the school so that she wouldn’t have to ride through the tunnel alone.  She was afraid of the dark, which was why he was surprised she’d agreed to go with him to the barrows in the first place.

He felt his palms go sweaty, his heart palpitate erratically, and his guts squirm in that paradoxically unpleasant and yet exciting way just thinking about her.  It was the same reaction he had every time he thought about her since he first met her almost four years ago when her mother had married his father.  It only got worse when he actually saw her: skin light brown with a golden sheen that looked as if she’d been brushed in gold leaf, black wavy hair that tended to frizz in the humid Belt summers, long black lashes surrounding deep, dark brown doe eyes.  Fire closed his eyes and smiled, leaning his head against the sandstone pillar as he imagined those eyes.  Her strangely plucked eyebrows didn’t even bother him when he looked in those eyes.  He wasn’t sure why Pria and her mother and sister pulled the hair off their bodies with such zeal.  From what he could see of Pria, she was hairless except for what was on her head and her thin, arched brows.  His older brothers snickered that they’d seen that the hairless theme encompassed their entire bodies based on the peeking they’d done on Maho when she’d first arrived.  There had been quite a row in the royal quarters when accusations had flown and their father’s new bride had demanded he keep his perverted children under control.  Fire thought it wasn’t right his brothers had snuck into the baths to spy on her, but surely Azurite could understand their inquisitiveness.  People from all over the Belt passed through O-nam, most through Shrija for trade, business, or simply touring, and as such the royal family had been exposed to people of every size and height, skin and eye color, hair texture, and bizarre customs.  But Azurite and her daughters were something new.  Gold skin, eyes so dark to be almost black, and hairless…that warranted a little curiosity.

But those exotic looks coupled with sharp but beautiful features was not why Fire loved Pria.  It was why he got weak in the knees around her, but physical attraction alone was not enough to set him to pining after any girl.  It was how she liked to make up stories with him about fantastic creatures and brash adventurers instead of studying or doing their chores.  It was how she laughed at his bad jokes.  It was how, four years later, she still couldn’t figure out the steps to O-nam’s folk dances.

Fire smiled remembering the last formal dinner held at the keep.  He had been the only one brave enough to risk his toes dancing with her.  He leaned his weight around the pillar, floating along in his happy memories.  Then he gagged and hacked as his stiff collar was forced into his throat.  He struggled from where he dangled in the grip of his brother’s hand, his toes scraping the sandstone.  He grabbed his brother’s wrist and pulled himself up slightly to relieve the pressure on his throat.  He scowled in aggravation and embarrassment.  Not only was Leaffall so much taller than him that he could easily pull Fire off his feet just by bending his arm up at the elbow, but he was strong enough to do it one handed while distracted by the girl he was making out with.

“Leaf!” Fire growled and kicked his foot hard into the asshole’s shin.

Leaffall grunted and stopped kissing the girl, but didn’t let her or Fire go.  He looked at his younger brother.

“What are you doing slinking around like a snoop?” Leaffall asked.

“I’m not slinking or snooping anywhere!  I’m just waiting for—”  Fire snapped his mouth shut.

Leaffall grinned at him, their mother’s honey brown eyes looking down at him with a less than motherly expression.

“Pria?” Leaffall asked with a smarmy tone.

“Maybe.”

Leaffall laughed and lowered Fire to his feet.  Then he ruffled his hair.  Fire batted at his hands.  Then he felt someone straightening out his shirt from behind.  He didn’t even have to turn around to know it was his brother’s personal servant, Daymous.

“You know you don’t have a shot with that, right?”

“Leaffall,” the girl admonished his brother teasingly, probably just trying to draw back his attention.  He glanced at her, but then let her go.

“Does Father know you’re staying out late with her?”

“It won’t be that late.  Besides.  We’re going the barrows.  You know Father likes for us to share our family’s history with as many people as possible.”

Leaffall laughed.  “True enough.  And you certainly won’t be the first of the Blood to take a girl down to the dark, scary barrows so she’ll cling tightly to him.”

He laughed and Fire frowned.

“That’s not why I’m taking her and that never even crossed my mind.”  It had.

The girl took Leaffall by the arm.  “Will you take me to the barrows?” she asked demurely.

“Yeah…” he looked the girl over.  “No.”  Then he turned to his brother.  “Don’t stay out past dark, okay?”

“I know my way home from the barrows!”

“I know.  But, you have to understand you’re the only one of us people would actually miss if something happened to you.”

“What about Roselite?  Everyone loves her.”

“She’s three.  And still cute.  Most kids stop being cute at five.  Except you.  You stayed cute.  And little.”

Fire let out a wordless shout and punched at his brother.  He laughed and easily fended him off.  He started to head for the path that led down to the city, Daymous right on his heels.  The girl, not knowing what else to do, followed.

“Here comes your lady love,” Leaffall teased and gave him an annoying wink.

His brother started to pay attention to the girl again once they’d left Fire behind.  Fire quickly adjusted his shirt, forcing the collar to lay down flat so that he wouldn’t look completely goofy.  Not two minutes later Pria arrived at the top of the hill leading her sister’s black mare and Fire’s grey racer with leather lead lines.  Fire suspected that Pria had to borrow her sister’s horse because her own must be in heat.  Moon Treader hadn’t been gelded yet as the horse master had declared that he was too fine a horseflesh not to use for stud.  It made him unruly and at times dangerous to ride, but while he’d kicked and bitten almost everyone in the keep at some point (including Fire) he’d never even come close to throwing Fire, almost as if he was consciously careful of his young master.  He was plodding crossly behind Pria, but broke into a trot and yanked his lead from the girl’s hand when he saw Fire.  He nosed at the boy’s hands and Fire combed through his forelock.

“Sorry, kiddo.  No snacks on me.”  He put his hand behind his back as the persistent stallion began to nip at his fingers.

“Ch, ch!” he admonished the horse.  “Maybe you should have brought a nag,” Fire said to Pria.  Moon Treader put his ears back.  Surely he couldn’t understand human speech?

Pria laughed and Fire colored.  He glanced at her over the horse’s back as he partially tucked his robe under Moon Treader’s saddle.  She wore leggings and a long-sleeved shirt despite the heat.  He’d warned her it got cold in the deepest part of the barrows, but now he’d wished he’d let her wear one of her strange dresses that were the fashion of her homeland.  Always brightly colored and made of a single piece of cloth that wrapped around her body in a complicated pattern that somehow managed to stay in place despite using no fastenings.  But she looked pretty no matter what she wore.  Her hair was pulled back in a loose, complicated twist and there was a fine sheen of sweat on her brow and above her lip.  On his sister it would be gross; on Pria it was strangely alluring.

“All right then,” Pria said, a false bravado in her voice.  “Let’s get this over with.”

“Get it over with?  Don’t you mean begin our adventure to the land of the dead?”

Fire smiled at her as he swung up onto Moon Treader’s back.  Pria just frowned and guided the mare over to a rock she could use as a stepping stool.

“This isn’t one of our games when we go down to the cellars and pretend we’re heroes trying to rescue a princess from a premature death.  You’re actually taking me _underground_.  With dead people.”

Fire laughed.  “They’re not dead people.  ‘Cause they’re not people anymore.  I doubt even my grandfather has much flesh left on his bones.”

Pria flailed wildly as she awkwardly found her seat on the horse.  She gaped at Fire.

“I will _not_ go down there if I have to actually see anything!  You said they’re all in barrows!”

“They are.  Not all of them have seals.”

“Does your grandfather’s?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” she called out, not urging her horse to follow as Fire and Moon Treader headed toward the entrance to the tunnel.

“I told you.  They’re just bones.  There’s nothing scary.”

“No, I mean, seeing your grandfather like that.”

Fire paused at the entrance of the tunnel and looked back over his shoulder.

“Pria!  Come _on_.  And why would it bother me to see my grandfather’s bones?”

Pria finally clucked her tongue and inexpertly swatted both heels to make the mare move.  At first Fire couldn’t believe she’d never ridden a horse before coming to O-nam, but watching her now after four years of lessons, he could easily believe she’d never even _seen_ a horse before.  The mare made her way to the tunnel, more by instinctually following another horse than by any of Pria’s inept attempts at steering.  They set off into the tunnel together, horses side by side at the withers.

“What I meant,” Pria said, “is isn’t it sad to see your grandfather…like that?”

“No.”

It was dim in the tunnel, but he could tell that she was frowning at him.

“What?” he asked with a small laugh.

“It’s your grandfather.  I’d be really sad if my Pop-Pop died.  I wouldn’t want to see his bones.”

“Pop-pop?” Fire questioned.

“Shut-up,” Pria grumbled and slapped him on the arm.

He feigned injury and rubbed the spot, but secretly felt a thrill from the contact.

“Well, that’s the difference.  I never knew my grandfather.  He died before I was born.”

“Oh.”

“But I’d be sad if my grandmother died.”

“And would you want to see her bones?” Pria demanded to know querulously.

“Well, I couldn’t.  She’ll be burned.”

“Why will she be burned and not buried with your grandfather?”

“All the people of O-nam are burned.  It’s what we do.”

“But you have a whole creepy cave full of dead people!”

“Dead kings and queens of the Blood.  No one else.  Not their spouses.  Not any children but the one that became the next sovereign.”

“But _why_?”

“I don’t know.  Why don’t we ask the first king of the Blood when we get there?”

“Ha, ha.”

Fire grinned at her.  She huffed in annoyance, but smiled back.  Then they both looked away from each other.  Fire was thankful it was too dark to see his fair skin flush bright red.

“Wait a minute,” Pria said, “we’re going all the way to the bottom?!”

Fire tried to ease her nerves for the rest of the walk through the dim tunnel by distracting her with questions about the new _silk_ she was weaving from what Fire could only assume was the poo of those ugly little white worms she, her mother, and sister carefully tended.  As they exited the tunnel on the other side of the sandstone wall, they were hit with the full force of the mid-afternoon sun.  Pria had been comfortable in her long-sleeved shirt, but now she realized how much the tunnel had been protecting them.  It was hotter than when she’d left the city.  It didn’t really bother her too much as it was about the same temperature it was year round in her homeland.  They just wore a lot less clothing there.  She felt sorry for poor Fire in his wool uniform, but he didn’t let it affect his mood like it would have a lot of other people.

When she’d first arrived in O-nam, she’d been terribly homesick for the warmth and the beaches, but now she’d come to appreciate the seasons of the Belt.  She hadn’t known what a season was until she got there; it really was always warm and sunny year round back home.  Except for the ten minutes a day it rained.  The weather was kind of like home in the middle of the country, being much hotter and desert-like in the south and more rainy and temperate up north where Shrija was.  But whether a person was north, south, or smack dab in the middle of the Belt, there were four distinct seasons.  Autumn was her favorite though she did find it a bit chilly while the natives ran around in lightweight pants and no jackets.

As the sandstone gave way to cracked, brittle ground of the same color but without the swirled beauty, they gossiped about the servants of the keep and who was snogging who in the dark corners.  About a kilometer from the barrows, there was an unnatural straight line on the ground where the tan rock looked like it had been devoured by a black, shiny ocean somehow frozen while still in motion.  The horses stepped carefully over the ripples in the stone and Fire got Pria to think about the next installment of their ongoing invented saga of betrayal and revenge.  Once the black ripples started gaining altitude, the youths dismounted in order to lead the horses carefully across the field.  It was easy to lose one’s footing on this slippery rock, and more often than not the impact from a falling body caused some of the rock to shatter into thousands of tiny, hazardous shards.

“What made the rock like this?” Pria asked as she held onto Fire’s hand and balanced against her horse.

Fire had been concentrating very hard on just walking since he was giddy from holding Pria’s hand, so he didn’t hear her question.

“Fire!”

“Hmm?”

He finally looked at her.

“What is this rock?  I’ve never seen anything like it.  It moves like water.  If it were moving.”

“Well, we’re not sure, but it seems to have come from underground.  See.”

He pointed with the hand that held Moon Treader’s reins to the entrance to the barrows of the family of the Blood, the Children of the Earth.  Pria gasped and stopped walking.  She’d been so focused on where she placed her feet she that hadn’t been looking up at all.

All around they were surrounded by a wasteland of the back stone, the blue horizon creating a sharp seal that it made seem like they were trapped under a glass bowl.  Directly in front of them the stone reared up in the hideous mouth of a great monster, six meters high at the crest with a row of jagged teeth-like stones jutting up along the bottom.  The black stone burbled out of the maw like the rotting mixture of blood and bile from a week dead corpse.

Pria tiptoed behind Fire, clutching his hand and taking comfort from the large physical presence of the horse behind her.

“Was this stone really like water once?” she whispered, afraid to disturb whatever might be lingering about either living or dead.  Though now that she thought about it, she hadn’t heard a single bird or seen a skittering lizard since they crossed the boundary onto the strange rock.

“Well according to some of the old texts, though they’re hard to read because no one really understands the old language anymore, this rock did move like water once.  Only much slower.  And it wasn’t black, it was a glowing red because it was so hot.  It only turned black when it cooled and hardened.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes such a perfect, bright blue that it made the clear autumn sky over their heads look like a sickly, jealous attempt at replicating it.  No, that wasn’t right, not sky blue.  Ocean blue.  But not those cold, opaque, grey waters of the Northern Ocean with its rocky beaches, perilous rip currents, and fifty varieties of ugly, silver-grey fish.  His eyes were the brilliant cerulean of the oceans near her homeland where coral reefs bloomed and vibrantly colored fish flashed and shimmered underwater like confetti in the air.  Every time she looked at him with those striking eyes set against his fair skin and with hair that wasn’t really brown or blonde or reddish or any discernible color other than “light-ish” since he wore it so short, she couldn’t help but think that no child had been more erroneously named than Fire.  It wasn’t in his nature and it certainly wasn’t in his looks.  She always took comfort from his beautiful aesthetics and gentle expressions though right now he looked very grave and ominous.  She stared at him for a moment, heart fluttering, as she tried to imagine rock so hot that it had liquefied.  Then she saw one corner of his mouth twitch, just slightly.  She let out a breathy laugh that was half an exhalation of relief.  She smiled and slapped his arm.

“You are so full of shit.”

Fire laughed.  “I didn’t say I thought it was true.  Come on, we can tie the horses over here.  There’s a pillar of the rock thick enough.”

In addition to tying the horses’ reigns to the edge of the cave opening, they hobbled them so they couldn’t wander into any hidden dips.  Fire took out two beeswax candles and a pair of striking stones from the saddlebags.  Only one of the candles was tall enough to make the roundtrip journey to the bottom, but he figured if they were already on their way back up when the other one went out that Pria might not freak out too much.  Fire stepped over the thigh high (thigh high to him) stones at the entrance to the barrows.  He’d been coming here since before he could remember being brought in a sling on his father’s back, drooling on the nape of his neck.  As such, he was not frightened by the strangeness of the rock nor the darkness that lay within.  He turned back to wait for Pria.  She was standing at the line of shadow and sunlight, shivering on the warm sunny side.

“Come on, Pria.  There’s nothing scary, I promise.”  He held out a hand to her.

She stepped out of the sunlight and over the jagged rocks (that only went up to her knees) and took his hand.  They started down the smooth, gentle slope into the cave.  The tunnel was narrow and round for only about twenty meters.  Then it abruptly dropped down into a large cavern.  Stairs had been carved into the stone and the two carefully made their way down the twenty-five steep, narrow steps.

When they reached bottom, Pria asked, “Should we light the candles now?”

“Not yet.  As long as we can still see our feet we should hold off.  It’s a long way down to the bottom.  About two kilometers of actual walking that goes one kilometer down.”

“I don’t think I want to do this anymore.”

“It’s not like there’s anything down here that can hurt you.  Why are you so afraid?”

“What about ghosts?”

Fire laughed.  “What’s a ghost?”

“Oh, yeah.  I keep forgetting you people are heathens,” she murmured, forcing a smile.

“We’re not heathens.  You wanna see a heathen?  We gotta go all the way down.  To the bottom: where the heathen kings are buried.”

Fire tugged insistently on her hand and got her to start walking.  The cavern was large and the walls were smooth.  As far as Pria could see there were no bodies or skeletons or anywhere to store them.  She checked the edges of the floor to make sure none had been carelessly swept into the corners.

“So.  Where are all these dead ancestors of yours?”

“Further down.  We’ll have to make two turns down before we come to the one my grandfather is in.  It’ll be several generations yet before O-nam has to worry about where it will inter its sovereigns.”

“Inter?”

“Mm.  I learned that this week.”

“My, my, your vocabulary sets my heart all aflutter.”

“Shut-up,” he grumped, but he was laughing.

“I don’t see how they could be _interred_ in here anyway.”

“They’ll have to carve a barrow into the wall.  That’s the way they all are.  They’re in the walls.”

Pria shuddered.

“Workers get sent down here a lot, to constantly dig out new ones.  It takes years and years just to make one because the stone is so hard.  It’s strange how up there it’s brittle, but down here its dense and solid.  There’s about five to ten empty barrows already completed at a time.  The workers add to those as they get filled.”

“You mean there’s already a tomb for your father and one of your siblings and one of your grand nieces or nephews carved and waiting for them?”

“Yep.  That way they have a place to rest while the details are carved in.  It’d be bad if they had to just lay out on the floor while it took several years to carve out the whole barrow, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

The floor began to slope as they descended deeper into the ground.  Pria glanced over her shoulder constantly to try to keep track of the grey hint of light that was all that was left of the bright sun in the world above.

“Okay, now we’ll need to light the candles.”

Fire handed her a candle and knocked the starting stones together once, twice and the wick caught.  He put the stones in his pocket and held his own candle to hers until it caught.  Then they stared at each other through the firelight.  The darkness and orangey flame couldn’t hide the blue of his eyes.  It was like a reminder the sky was still there.  Pria took courage from that.

“Okay, let’s go.”

She turned forward and realized that the direction they’d been headed in was now a dead end.  To their right the tunnel continued, slanting even further down.  They followed the path around the corner, making three more right turns.  They must be directly below where they had been standing when they lit the candles, and now the path continued forward, angling down deeper.  There was not even a trace of sunlight here; all the light came from their two puny candles.  The light could barely penetrate a meter into the darkness around them.  She held Fire’s hand with her right hand and the candle with her left, so her circle of light was able to illuminate just the bottom half of the wall immediately beside her.  The same amount of wall was visible to Fire’s right.  They could see their feet well enough, but the ground in front of their toes quickly turned grey and then disappeared.  Now Pria didn’t feel so brave, but she wasn’t going to back out yet.  Her sister had predicted that she wouldn’t even make it to the first barrow before turning tail and running.  She wanted to prove her wrong.  Not that Maho was one to talk; she’d never been to the barrows before either.

They followed much the same path as they had above, walking down a gentle slope to a dead end, and then turning to the right to circle steeply downward.  Still, there were no barrows.  Not even empty ones.  Pria wanted to ask if they were ever going to see these barrows, but was worried she wouldn’t be able to control the shaking in her voice.  Not that she was concerned Fire would make fun of her if it did.  She just didn’t want him to think poorly of her like she was some pathetic little ninny who couldn’t walk into a deep, dark grave full of the bodies of dead kings and queens from millennia ago.  She whimpered as those thoughts invaded her imagination.

“Pria?  Do you want to go back?”

She drew herself up.  “No.  Don’t be silly.  I just think you brought me here to try to scare me.  I haven’t seen a single barrow.  Did you make it up?”

“Just a little further,” she could hear the smile in his voice.

They had to make the turn at one more dead end and walk half way down the next hallway before Pria saw the markings and scratching of new barrows in the wall to her left.  Then the first empty barrow came into view.  Or it may have been only half finished.  She couldn’t tell if that blackness was the back of the wall or if the light couldn’t penetrate all the way to the back.  Fire pulled her to the right and they turned to face the wall, the light from both their candles illuminating a rectangle cut into the stone, three quarters of it decorated with swirling designs, images of people and horses, and great ram horns gracing the top.  The lower right side was left plain.  Or perhaps it just wasn’t finished yet.  Fire’s grandfather had only been dead for a little over fifteen years.  She would have admired the amazing skill and precision work that had gone into the carvings, but her eyes were drawn to what lay in the opening.

It looked like it had once been a human, but the skin was dried and blackened and shriveled around the inner skeleton, some of the sharper bones actually protruding through the toughened skin as a dull white counterpoint.

“What happened to him?” Pria gasped, then covered her mouth, afraid to breathe in dry skin particles that might be flaking about.

“Doctor’s not sure.  He thinks his inner organs stopped working properly.  Or something.”

“He didn’t die in a fire?”

“No.  Oh, no.  That’s what happens.  Father says it’s because it’s so dry down here that even though the blood and innards are removed beforehand, that the left over blood and fluids evaporate out of the skin.  After a while it eventually crumbles to nothing and all that is left is the bones.  You can still see some wisps on my great grandfather, but his mother before him is already all bones.”

“Oh.  So.  Did his clothes dry up?  Or did they rot?”

“No.  He was interred naked.”

“Why?”

“He’s dead.  Why would he need clothes?  Plus, it’s a tradition starting back from the first heathen king.  He was buried naked, and no king or queen of his Blood could ever be greater than him, so they must all be buried as equals.  There are some rumors that some of the sealed tombs have sovereigns that were clothed and even have gold and jewels and treasures sealed with them.  But that’s ludicrous.  Who’d bury anything of worth with the dead?”

“Some believe the dead need those things for use in the next life.”

“Oh, right,” Fire was careful not to laugh outright.  Pria tended to get huffy and upset when he teased her about her bizarre _religion_.  “The afterlife.  I thought that life is supposed to be better than this one.”

“It is.”

“Then why would you need anything from this life?  Surely you can find all the same things but better there.”

Pria considered this.  Then she decided she didn’t want to think about it too hard.  Especially not surrounded by death.  Because now, she certainly was.  Fire’s grandfather was the first, but further down the tunnel, all the barrows now held the skeletons of his ancestors.  They turned away from his grandfather and continued down, moving the candles to shine a little more light on the tombs on their respective side of the walls.  All of the barrows had carvings around the mouth.  Some elaborate, some simple, some depicting scenes of peace and others of war.  They made the turn again and descended deeper.  The first barrow on the left they came to was bereft of carvings.  The skeleton inside was tiny, that of a child no older than eight or ten.

“Who is this?” Pria asked.

“King Rhince.  Directly across from him is his mother, Queen Rhion.  She died birthing her second child and Rhince became king by default when he was three years old since Queen Rhion had no living siblings or cousins.  But he died when he was eight.  That’s why he has no decorations on his tomb; he didn’t really accomplish anything.  Either that or the kingdom was too busy dealing with the chaos to bother with it.”

“So, there _is_ a break in your lineage.”

“Oh, no.  His sister, the one Queen Rhion died birthing, she still lived.  She became queen when she was five years old when Rhince died.”

“So, where is her tomb?”

“Up on the last level.  It was the last one we saw before turning the corner.  Queen Rhio.  You remarked on how lifelike the carvings of the horses looked.”

“Oh.  She lived a long time then?”

“Until she was a hundred and nineteen.  Though she turned over the sovereignty to her daughter at ninety-five.”

“That’s a very strange custom of your people, you know.  To allow someone else to rule while the former king or queen still lives.  Especially for a monarchy based on bloodlines.”

“I don’t think so.  People can’t rule as long as they can live.  Everybody deserves to retire.  Even a king.  Plus, you know, some old people kind of lose their wits after a while.  It’s the sign of a poor ruler who won’t step down when it’s his time.”

“And you’ve never had any selfish madmen like that in all of the marvelous, pure Blood of the Earth, hmm?”

“No.  There’s been, like, one.  Maybe two.”

Fire laughed and Pria smiled for the first time since entering the mass grave.  “Let’s keep moving.  I want to see these ‘heathen kings’ of yours.”

“We’ve got a ways yet to go for that.”

At the end of the tunnel was a barrow carved into the wall of the dead end.  There were columns that reached to the ceiling, two times the height of a man, which made Pria realize the tunnels were getting shorter and narrower.  The stone had been polished so that it gleamed even in the meager light from the candles.  Statues of fearsome creatures guarded the entrance, and quite by contrast, beautiful, delicate vines and flowers covered every visible inch of the walls, floor, and ceiling of the barrow that was large enough for a person to walk into without stooping.  They were able to see into the tomb because the walls trapped the light from their candles and bounced it back toward them.  In the center was an ornately carved bier that looked as if it had been made out of the fine pink sandstone of the cliffs to the south.  On this rested the remains of a skeleton that must have belonged to a very large and tall person.  At the head of the bier was a breathtaking statue of a woman sculpted from the purest of white marble.  Intrigued, Pria forgot her unease and stepped into the barrow, passing the bier and walking right up to the statue.  The detail was impeccable.  She felt like she was looking at the woman herself: well into adulthood, but not yet middle-aged.  She had a pretty face, large eyes, full lips, and a kindly expression.  Her nose was a little large, but it made the statue more beautiful for it was revealing the true woman and not some idealized version of her.  She turned to face Fire where he stood at the end of the bier.

“Who is this?” Pria asked.

“This is Queen Hyanna the Uniter.  She’s what you’d call a warrior queen.”  He laughed.  “They say she liked sitting on war councils and riding into battle better than managing the country during times of peace.  It’s too bad she was so good at it.  All Nations Conflict IV only lasted one year because she crushed the allied forces of the Peninsula so handedly.  That war is what resulted in the formation of the Republic of Maubern.  All those scattered peoples from the mountains to the river basin were united under the Mauberns and controlled by Hyanna while she lived.  She’s also the one who insisted everyone adopt a single, conformed calendar so that it was easier to keep track of dates and events among the nations.  That’s when year one of the United Calendar started, after the end of the conflict.  The year was pretty easy to suss out, but the days and months were a bit trickier because every civilization had its own system.   It’s said that the Queen Consort Cora is the one who came up with the calendar we use today, with thirteen months and thirty-six weeks of ten days.”

“I’ve never understood that calendar.  Thirty six weeks doesn’t fit into thirteen months evenly.”

“Oh, it has something to do with the moon and the stars and how it’s just a little bit off each year.  Every seven years the last day, last week, and last month all correspond with the end of the year.  That’s when we have a really huge festival.  You’ll see.  It’s in two more years.”

Pria suddenly turned away from him and faced the statue again.  “This is Hyanna?” she asked, her voice sounding strange.

Fire thought about asking if she was okay, but he’d learned a long time ago that if she didn’t want him to know something she could not be persuaded to share it.  So, he answered her question.

“No.  That’s the queen consort, Cora.  She couldn’t be buried here with the queen, of course, but they say Hyanna loved her so much it would be cruel to keep them separated.  So, they put this statue here to watch over her.”

“I thought your people didn’t believe in life after death.”

“It’s symbolic, Pria.”

“Hn.  I guess the people loved Queen Hyanna dearly.”

“I guess.  Though some say this was mostly built while she was still alive and she planned the whole thing and would occasionally come down and survey it.”

Pria glanced behind the statue, but couldn’t see the decorated back wall.  She moved the candle, but still saw only blackness.  She took one, and then two steps past the statue.  There was no back wall that she could see.

“How big is this barrow?” Pria called back to Fire.

“It doesn’t have a back.  It’s a tunnel.”

Pria spun on her heel and scurried back to Fire.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she hissed.

“Tell you what?”

“What’s down there?”

“Don’t know.  No one’s been down there.”

Pria shuffled around Fire to put him between her and the tunnel.  She looked back inside the surprisingly feminine barrow considering what Fire had said about the queen.

“She had good taste.”

“I’d say it was probably Cora’s design.  Warriors make poor artists.”

“So, Fire.”

“Yes, Pria.”

“When you say ‘queen consort,’ you mean that in the way my mother is referred to as queen consort.  Because she’s married to your father, the king.”

“Yes.”

“So.  Queen Hyanna was married to…a woman.”

“Yes.  But, that can’t be that surprising to you.  At least not as surprising as it was when you first came here.  You know now we do that here.”

“Yes,” Pria blushed and almost giggled.  It was still such a strange custom of these people.  She always stared when she was in the marketplace and saw two men holding hands like lovers.  Well, not _like_ lovers.  They probably _were_ lovers.  “But I mean, here _must_ be a break in the bloodline.  Two women can’t have babies.  At least, we non-O-nams can’t.  Is that something else special that your people can do?” she asked in a falsely innocent tone.

“Of course not,” Fire retorted.  “But we also don’t have ‘illegitimate’ children.  That’s truly an ugly word to place on a child.  It’s surely no fault of the child’s how it was conceived.  I don’t understand the barbaric custom of ostracizing the child for the wrongs of the parents.”

Pria smiled and linked arms with him, leading him out of the barrow.  “You know, I kind of agree with you.  So, how did the bloodline continue then?”

They made the turn to descend deeper into the earth.  They were so far under now they could actually hear the weight of the earth above them.  Even if it was only in their minds.

“Well, so the story goes, she would have men brought to her to…you know.  She would only ever sleep with each man once and only did so for as long as it took to have a child that survived to adulthood.  That was Queen Hydora who was the last one on the left in the last chamber.”

“But, if she didn’t continue to sleep with men while she waited to see if her child would live, wasn’t that risky?  Couldn’t the child have died as an adolescent and by then she would be too old to have another baby?”

She felt Fire shrug as her arm moved up.  “Guess we got lucky.  After all, if Hydora hadn’t survived, the line would be broken and I certainly wouldn’t be here.  I guess that’s proof that our family is blessed.”

“By what?” Pria laughed.  “You don’t believe in a god.”

“The Earth of course.  All people and animals and plants and the water and rocks are Her children.  And my family is of the Blood of the Earth.  We are directly descended from Her.”

“So, does that mean you believe in an Earth goddess then?”

Fire sighed.  “I rarely understand what you mean when you start using those terms and we always get into a fight when we discuss it.  Can we not today?”

Pria tightened her arm around his.  “Yes.  I’m sorry.  I don’t want to fight.  Not today.”

Fire didn’t know what she meant by that, but he wasn’t going to say anything to make her let go of him.  The air was definitely chilly this far down and he was practically floating as he felt her warmth pressed down the side of his body.  As they walked through the next several chambers, passing by thousands of years of history and dead monarchs, Fire could feel Pria relax by minute degrees, though she still clung to him like a small child to her mother’s skirts on her first trip to the marketplace.  Either she was slowly getting used to the dark and the deep, or his history lessons were boring her into a kind of walking sleep.  As they reached the end of another chamber, he knew the next one might wake her up a bit.

They turned the corner, going deeper still.  Pria could feel the depth and the dark like a weight on her chest making it difficult to breathe.  Beside her, Fire walked calmly, probably happily.  He’d always spoken of these barrows like they were a favorite holiday retreat.  She wondered how many times he’d made this unnatural trek beneath the earth.  Humans didn’t belong underground.  Not unless they were dead.

She had tried to push these thoughts aside and had somewhat succeeded as she’d noticed the barrows began to lose their decorations, getting plainer and plainer until at last they had past some that were no more than shelves scratched into the wall.  She was going to ask about this when she let out a small yip and suddenly started hopping on one foot.

 “Oh, wait,” she said.  “There’s a pebble in my shoe.”

Fire realized he’d forgotten to tell her to wear something studier than sandals, but he’d kind of thought she’d figure that out on her own.  But he rarely saw Pria, her mother, or her sister in anything but sandals and often they chose to go barefoot around their quarters in the royal keep.  Pria leaned against a wall with her elbow, her hand being occupied with the candle.  Then she bent over slightly to remove the irritating pebble.  At least she hoped it was a pebble.  It looked kind of white and the possibility that it was a bone fragment was not something she could contemplate without screaming like a _kilkvet_ , the wailing apparitions of careless parents who had lost their children in the Phon River.  Again, these Belt people were so strange.  They didn’t believe in a god or life after death, but a person could be cursed to remain in the world forever as the _undead_.  Ridiculous.

As she straightened, Pria felt the light scraping of stippled rock tugging at her shirt sleeve.  She put her free hand to the wall—this was not the smooth, almost slippery black rock they had been walking through.  The light from her candle showed it to be a medium brown rock punctuated with veins of shimmery quartz or something similar.

“What happened to the black rock?” she asked, wondering when the change had occurred and why she hadn’t noticed sooner.

She heard Fire shrug, unable to see him clearly in the gloom of the candlelight.  “It stops back at Queen Hyanna’s barrow.  Or rather, that’s where it comes from.  That’s why hers was built into the back of the wall like that; it was a tunnel that was already there.”

“Is it truly a tunnel?  Where does it lead?”

“Like I said, none have ventured in to find out.  At least none that spoke of it.  We are unafraid of the depth of the barrows because our ancestors guard it for us.  That tunnel does not belong to us, so we let it be.”

Pria reached out and snatched Fire’s arm back to her, holding it close to her body.  A tunnel that led to nowhere any man had seen could have any manner of _things_ living in it.  And they would have to pass it to return to the world.  It almost made going forward seem like the better option, except of course they would be trapped once they reached the bottom.  If this Godforsaken place even had a bottom.

Fire stood stock still with his arm awkwardly locked against Pria’s body.  He was pretty sure part of his arm was touching the underside of one breast.  He wondered if this counted as fourth rung of the Ladder.  It must be a rare thing for a boy to jump from first rung, hand holding, to the fourth rung while skipping the next two: kissing and tongue kissing.  Then she started to move forward and the contact was lost.  He allowed himself to be pulled along, grateful she was too busy fighting her fear to worry about the salacious thoughts pouring off him like steam from a hot spring on a freezing cold morning.  What was it Pria’s mother had said to his father?  Men were like dogs, and would hump a pillow as long as it was willing.

They continued around the corner to enter the next sloping chamber that led steadily down, but he stopped Pria before she went too far.  This one was different.  Pria sensed the difference as well.  It felt less claustrophobic somehow though the light from their candles revealed no more of the area.  She did notice that the candlelight was not illuminating any walls.  Fire tugged her to the right and they walked a good fifteen paces away from the entrance, which already doubled the entire width of the previous passages.

“Did you notice the barrows above?” Fire asked.  “How they had gotten simpler in design?”

“Yes.  I meant to ask you about it but then we started talking about a tunnel that leads to God knows where and has God knows what lurking inside it.”

Fire was surprised in this lapse.  It was no secret that Pria and her family believed in something most of the people of the Belt did not, but they were very careful only to speak of it in generalities and never acknowledge their faith so baldly.  They seemed to think people would care that they appealed to this “god” rather than their ancestors.  But then, they were very touchy about their religion so they probably thought other people would be the same about _not_ having a religion.  Ridiculous.

“Well, the reason is because the last of the Enlightened Kings forbade future generations from doing this.”  He waved a hand indicating the room hidden in the darkness.  “Well, he wasn’t an Enlightened King, he was the one to put an end to them.  Well, I guess he was born as one, but…”  Fire continued to go back and forth on the classification of this king as he fumbled around with something in front of him.  Then there was a soft splashing sound, like water had been disturbed.  Well, maybe something thicker than water.  Then Fire cursed and she heard him wiping his hand against the granite wall.  A pungent smell filled her nostrils, but she could not place it.

“Close your eyes,” Fire warned.

She started to ask him why when fire suddenly flared before her eyes causing her to snap her eyes shut against the searing brightness and turn her face away.  She could hear the soft whoosh of a rapidly expanding fire and peeked an eye open to see what was going on.  Fire flamed along the surface of some liquid inside a narrow basin carved out of the granite.  The basin made a rectangle around a structure in the center.  The basin would be about stomach high on a grown man and came up to her chest.  Her eyes adjusted to the light quicker than she expected, and she opened them in time to see Fire blow out the candle in her hand, his already being snuffed.  The light from the lines of fire easily illuminated them and the structure it enclosed, but before she could examine it in detail the flickering light drew her attention behind her.  She turned and gasped.

The size of the cavern dwarfed them.  The ceiling was so high the light from the fire did not show it and only revealed the far end as a grey haze in the distance.  Even without being able to see all of the walls and corners clearly, she was certain this was not a natural formation, but had been dug and scratched out by thousands of men over hundreds of years.  Giant columns were carved into the walls, flanking massive double doors not hewn from the granite of the cavern, but marble of every color.  A couple even looked like they had been made from the black stone.  Statues of oddly robed people and proudly posing creatures guarded these doors.  The doors closest to where they stood was made of green marble flecked with black and the statue of a sitting tiger, one paw poised imperiously in the air, was easily twice her height.  As she looked above the tiger’s great head she saw a second though far less grand door set in the wall above it.  And there was yet another door above that.  All around the room the rows of doors were three or four high.  Some of these had reliefs of columns and people and animals carved next to them.  She stared at the fantastic beauty and skillful architecture of the room for many long minutes, forgetting she was so far underground and that these doors probably housed dusty skeletons.

At last she turned back to the grave enclosed in fire.  It had not been carved into the wall, but sat apart with the basin enclosing a space about three meters long and two meters wide.  In the center was cold, grey stone in the shape of what Pria would have called an obelisk had it not been stretched out to the length of a man.  This structure rested on a slab of red stone out of which had been carved chains of thick and thin gauge, made to look like they crisscrossed the red stone top to bottom, side to side, and front to back.

Pria edged closer to Fire, feeling more uneasy than ever despite the open space and decent light.  She sought out his hand, not taking her eyes off the tomb, twining their fingers together.

“Who’s in there?” she whispered, afraid of disturbing whoever—or whatever—might have been symbolically chained inside the stone.  It was a rather thin block: if there was a person in there, he or she had to have feet and face turned in order to fit.

“On top,” said Fire, “is King Lind, last of the Enlightened Kings and first of the movement back to the old customs of O-nam.  Not a complete return to heathen ways, but a restoration of the spirit of our people.  Six thousand years ago, the last heathen king, Black Hart (like, a stag), married a woman from the south.  Not from the peninsula, but from the continent that lies deep in the South Ocean.  She taught the beliefs of her people to those of O-nam and converted many to worship her 'almighty' god.  The year her son was born, King Black Hart died.”  He smiled at Pria mysteriously.

“A coincidence?” she asked softly.

Fire shrugged.  “Good question.  Many people asked it.  But, her son was a child of the Blood and crowned as King Ke.  Of course, being only a baby, Queen Consort Ka ruled in his place as regent.  She now had the power to enforce the belief of her god on the people.  Or at least to make them pretend they did.  For five hundred years O-nam was ruled by kings and queens who had received ‘enlightenment’ from this god, and from old texts it’s widely believed that a majority of the people believed in it.  That is until outsiders began to pervade society, creating upper and lower ranks of people and giving power to the highest rank of people and these special people known as weests.”

“Weests?” Pria broke in, not knowing the word.

“That’s what they were called.  They were said to be people who were closest to this god.  And led prayers to it.”

Pria held back her smile.  “Do you mean ‘priests?’”

Fire shrugged a shoulder.  “Possibly.  I don’t know what either is.  Anyway this higher rank of people wanted to make one of these weests—”

“Priests.”

“What _ever_.  The next sovereign of O-nam, saying that only they could properly rule the people.”

“You mean they wanted to break the Bloodline?”

“Yep.”

“Uh-oh.  I think I can see where this is going.”

“Oh, it’s worse than just suggesting it.  The highest _priest_ ,” here he made a face at her, “had the royal family assassinated.  Some say he did it by his own hand.”

“So, he _did_ break the lineage.”

“Almost.  The youngest child of Queen Lin was not even a year old when it happened.  They say his nursemaid actually sacrificed her own baby to be killed in his place in order to preserve the Blood.”

“That’s awful!”

“With the family of the Blood supposedly wiped out and with the power of the elevated people, this priest usurped the throne.  Or did eventually.  As a result of the assassinations, some nations of the Belt came to O-nam’s aid and that was actually the start of All Nations Conflict II.  During this time, the rescued prince of the Blood was raised in secret.  After the war, the priest took the throne and ruled for two years.  Then Lind led a revolt of the most loyal of O-nam’s people, those who had not forgotten their history or their blood oaths to the descendants of Earth Child.  Though vastly outnumbered they won surprisingly easily, Lind killing the usurper with his own hand.  It was by this unlikely victory that the people, even those that had stood with the outsiders, were convinced that the claims that Lind was of the Blood were true.  He was crowned king and spent all sixty-eight years of his reign tearing down what the kingdom had become and rebuilding it into something better than it ever had been.  He was only eighteen years old when he killed Savin the Usurper.  I think back then eighteen was much older than it is now, but he was still quite young.  He is thought by many to be our greatest king.”

“Then why is his tomb so plain?”

“Because this decadence,” he gestured to the great hall around them, “was the extravagance of the outsiders and their religion.  O-nam used to be filled with temples and shrines and statues to that god and all the special people and creatures it favored.  Lind made it his life’s work to seek them out and take them apart stone by stone and the statues pulverized to dust to erase the taint of those treacherous people from the land.  There are only two known ruins in all of O-nam that still have any sort of shape to them from that time.  He forbade the people from building anything that had no practical purpose and decoration was all but illegal.  Obviously, we kind of let that tradition fall by the wayside over the millennia.”

“Indeed,” said Pria, picturing the expansive, lavish gardens built in the newest wing of the royal keep.  She’d been overawed by the magnificence and plant variety and ingenious design of the gardens when she’d first seen it four years ago.  Just yesterday she’d stood in silence for the better part of an hour as she found herself beside an exquisite alabaster fountain hidden behind a curtain of pink and red roses.

“So,” she said, hand clenching Fire’s tighter still.  “Why the chains?”

“Well the story goes that Lind kept the usurper’s body after he killed him in a box under his bed.”

“Ew!”

“And that he took that box with him everywhere he went.  Some thought he meant to intimidate any of those who might still be more loyal to the god than to the children of the Blood of the Earth.  But some say Lind claimed the man was a magic worker and did not trust him even in death.  And that he trusted no man but himself to guard the bones, even after his death.  So, his bones were laid under Lind so that the king could always reign over him and protect the people from him.”

Pria shivered as she looked at the chained tomb.  There were tales in her homeland of how evil men could still have power after death.  Superstitious old-wives tales, but she could understand King Lind wanting to be safe rather than sorry.

“So.  There _is_ one person not a king who lies in the barrows.”

“Ah, technically no.  He’s not of the Blood, but he did rule O-nam for two years.  That’s why the people agreed to acquiesce to the king’s request.  It wasn’t really breaking with tradition.”

Pria turned to look at him.  This close Fire could count each individual eyelash.  His eyes dropped to her lips.  Was he brave enough to do what he’d wanted to do for four years now?

The tension was broken when she said, “Acquiesce?” in a snarky tone.

“We had a vocabulary test this week,” Fire grumbled.

She laughed and said, “I was wondering about decadence too.”

“I am fifteen and royally educated.  Not some ignorant country boy.”

Pria laughed again.  People said she was the only one who could induce that insufferable royal arrogance in Fire who was always such a sweet, humble boy.  She turned partially to once again take in the extraordinary wonders of the cavern.  It just didn’t seem possible that humans could be capable of this.  She started to step away from Fire to go explore the astounding marvels, anxious to examine the statues in closer detail, but Fire held her back.

“Hang on,” he said, carefully lighting one of the candles in the fire so as not to melt off any wax.  He handed it to her and then lit his own.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve got to put out the fire.”

“Don’t!  Why?”

“Pria, this light barely makes it to the end of this cavern, clearly it can’t light the way through the last four passages.”

“Can’t we stay here a while?  I’d like to look at these doors and statues closer.”

“Not today.  We don’t want to have to ride home after dark.  I’ll bring you back another day when we have some more time.”

Pria looked suddenly sad, and then shook it off and managed a laugh.  “Ha.  Like you’ll be able to get me back down here again.”

“Sure I will.  Once you’ve been once, it’s not scary anymore.”

“Except for dark, mysterious tunnels and chained, magic priests.  Nothing scary at all.”

Fire smiled at her and then turned to manipulate what looked like a carving shaped like a cog.  But it wasn’t a carving, it was functional.  And the leather that lined the sides of the basin, which she had thought was decoration, squeaked and pulled up slabs of granite that were not the true sides of the basin at all.  Slowly the stones moved up and then lowered into place over the flames.  It grew dark, but there was still a line of light seen from the unsealed basin.  One more turn of the cog and the slabs dropped into place, smothering the flames.  Now, by comparison, their candles were even less effective at cutting through the black.  Fire worked the cog back in the other direction until the slabs once again lay flat against the sides of the basin.  Then he took Pria’s hand and led her through the room.

“Couldn’t you have left it burning until we came back?”

“That’s a waste of the oil.  Plus, it’s a bad idea to let fumes build up down here.”

“Yeah, but,” Pria jumped as she swore she heard the sound of a door creaking open.  “Now we can’t see them.”

“It’s okay.  I’ve never been—wait.”  Fire stopped walking and Pria clung to him.  “Do you hear…chains rattling?”

Pria sucked in a breath to scream, but then Fire laughed.  She let out the air in an annoyed shout.

“That is not funny Fire of the Blood!”

Fire just continued to laugh and started walking again.  “It kind of is.”

“It’s not,” she mumbled.

When they reached the far end of the cavern, they had to adjust their course to the left as they had drifted away from the center path.  Before leaving though, Fire pulled her over to the left wall.  There was a set of doors that were much larger than the ones Pria remembered seeing at the other end.  They were made of white marble with what were possibly pink swirls in it, but it was hard to tell for sure in candlelight.  Four pillars towered around and Pria didn’t think she and Fire together could touch hands if they tried to wrap their arms around them.  There were dozens of statues of animals and birds of all kinds and sizes.  Some very stylized and some very realistic.  Several marble people wandered among the animals, feeding them, grooming them, or in some cases it appeared, worshipping them.  A statue of a woman stood in the center of this stone menagerie, much larger than the others.  The woman had a stern, cruel-looking face and her eyes had been left blank.  Pria actually crept behind Fire as if to hide from the woman.  Even though she was the least realistic looking, she seemed on the verge of coming to life.  This woman scared her worse than the chained tomb.

“This is the tomb of King Ke.  And the statue is his mother, Ka.  The woman who brought ‘enlightenment’ to O-nam.  The story that’s been passed down is that Ke had his mother’s body covered in beetles so that they would clean her bones.  And then he crushed the bones and put the powder in a pouch that he wore at his waist.  In this era kings were not buried completely naked because the god deemed that indecent.  And he was buried with a leather pouch.  There’s a theory that he snuck his mother’s bones into the barrow because he felt she deserved the honor more than any other.  My brother wants to open the tomb and search for it, but my father won’t let him.”

“Let me guess.  Leaffall?”

“How did you know?” Fire asked with feigned disbelief.  “And look there.”  Fire pointed to the very corner of the cavern, next to the magnificent mausoleum of Ke.  There was a small door carved directly into the granite, unornamented and almost lost in the grandeur around it.  “That is the tomb of King Black Hart, last of the heathen kings.”

“Aw.  I feel sorry for him.  Obviously that southern woman just married him for his power.”  Then she glanced uneasily at the statue, afraid her words would anger and wake her.  It stayed where it was.  “Do you think Ke was really his then?  Would she have lied about it?”

Fire shrugged.  “I suppose she could have.  But the texts seem pretty certain he was Black Hart’s.”

“Why?”

“Because the religion she brought with her had very strict rules regarding fidelity.  She would be going against her own religion to be with a man outside of her marriage.  Or so the texts explain her religion.”

“Have you read any of these texts or are you just repeating what you’ve heard?”

“A little of both,” he sniffed indignantly.  “I’ve read part of the text that is the actual book of their religion.  It’s pretty boring and very judgey.”

“Judgmental?”

“Yeah, sure, fine.”

“Didn’t score perfectly on your vocab test, did you?”

“Hush.  Or I’ll leave you here.”

She shook his arm.  “Fiiiirrree!”

“Okay, come on.  The last four chambers go faster because they’re smaller.”

They turned back to the exit of the grand chamber and walked through, only to find a dead end and a turn to the right.  They walked around and down the turns coming out into a chamber much like all the others had been before the Grand Hall as Pria unofficially dubbed the room full of mausoleums.  The barrows were exposed and carved into the walls.  There were decorations on these walls too, but not the intricate, delicate work of spirals, flowers, and animals.  These were rough and blocky and depicted scenes of war, celebration, hunting, mourning, animal sacrifice, and even one Pria thought was meant to depict child birth.  As they went down, the chambers became narrower, shorter, and the ceiling was low enough they could have touched it if they jumped with arms stretched over their heads.  Toward the end of the second to last chamber, Pria paused to examine a strange etching on the wall above a barrow where the crumbling remains of the bones appeared to be missing several components, and not just from age.  There were no carvings down here, but instead the images had been drawn or scratched onto the wall with some sort of black paint or ink.  And this drawing appeared to be of a man and a woman if the strange squares on one of the figure’s chests were meant to be breasts.  She tilted her head as she tried to see where their bodies were joined together.  Then she realized exactly what it was the two figures were doing.  She blushed hotly and backed up into Fire.  She yelped and jumped away from him, and then squealed as the flame of her candle wavered dangerously.  She stood absolutely still and the flame steadied.  Pria sighed in relief and looked up to meet Fire’s eyes.  He immediately looked away and she blushed again.  Great.  Now they were both thinking about sex.  Fire cleared his throat.

“Come on.  One more and then we’ll greet Earth Child himself.”

Pria felt her heart pound in nervous anticipation.  Before her mother could marry Fire’s father she, and both her daughters, had had to swear a blood oath to the children of the Blood of the Earth.  An oath sworn to Earth Child and required them to actually shed their own blood into a pitcher of water, which the king and all of his Blood had then been required to drink from.  Apparently not all of the heathen customs had been civilized out of the people of O-nam.  It had only been a little pinprick to the finger, an offering of no more than two or three drops of blood, but Pria had been flabbergasted when her mother had agreed to do it.  But then, she had gone on and on for a full year before they ever met the king that it was imperative she marry him.

Pria and Fire joined hands again as they made the final turns to the deepest barrow.  This passageway sloped much steeper than any of the previous ones, taking them far below the previous level.  The air actually felt warmer this far down.  Fire held his candle out in front of them, concerned by how little of the wax remained.  At least Pria’s was still tall enough to get them back.  He watched the flame carefully as they approached the low entrance to the chamber.  The flame guttered.  Fire froze and yanked down hard on Pria’s hand to get her to stop moving.  He watched the candle as it struggled to stay alight.  Sometimes, this far down, dangerous air filled the chamber that could steal a person’s breath.  Then the flame grew and steadied.  He watched it burn for the space of ten breaths and then took a step forward, Pria following timidly behind.  She sucked in a sharp breath and pulled against him.  He turned to look at her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“There’s something wrong with the floor.”

“It’s dirt.  Not rock.”

The final barrow was a small hole barely able to hold ten men dug into the very earth.  In this chamber lay only the first five kings of O-nam.  Two barrows on either side of the walls, and one, small square hole dug into the back wall.  He led Pria over to this, the first and purest of the Blood, and sank to his knees.  He placed his candle in a small earthenware bowl to the left of the barrow.  Pria stood behind him, the light from her candle wavering as her hands trembled.

In this small hole was a remarkably intact skeleton.  Not laid out since the hole was neither long enough nor deep enough for a full sized human body, the bones were stacked in a peculiar crisscrossing pile with the skull placed on top in the center.  Earth Child grinned at them for he still possessed all his teeth.  On top of his head was a strange, dark stain that dripped over the sides of his skull, over his teeth, and down over the bones that made up his throne.  Pria shivered again, feeling utterly small and weak in the tiny earth chamber with the weight of the world above her head and the dark and silence so profound she could hear it as a roar in her ears.

She watched, with fascinated horror, as Fire unsheathed a knife from his belt.  He cut a short, but deep wound into his left wrist, and then moved his arm over the skull.  His blood poured from his body and onto the skull, running down the jaw, over the teeth, and down onto the bones below.  The stain was no longer a mystery.  How many generations of Fire’s family had offered their blood thus to Earth Child, first of their line?

Pria gritted her teeth as fear and disgust shot through her: she was certain the heathen king’s smile widened just a bit with the blood offering.  Fire couldn’t have seen it; his head was bowed as if he were praying.  His blood still leaked from his wrist.  She was about to demand he do something about it when he pulled his hand back and shook out a dark colored piece of cloth from his belt.  This he wrapped and tied around his wrist one handed with practiced ease.  How often did he come down here and offer his blood to his ancestor?  Apparently a god wasn’t necessary to inspire fervent devoutness.  Then he turned and looked up at her, the candlelight illuminating his face and not casting it in shadow.  His sweet smile was quite a contrast to the barbaric ritual he had just performed so calmly.

“This is Earth Child, first of the Blood.  He is the child of Mother Earth herself, not one made with Il-Sumaedrah.”

“He seems nice,” Pria said nervously, not remembering the creation story of the people of the Belt well enough to understand his meaning and much too anxious to ask.  “Do you think he’ll mind if we leave?  Now?”

Fire hesitated and then said, “Sure.”  He turned around to pick up his candle from the bowl.  “But you know, if you’re willing to offer your blood to him now…”

Pria turned sharply to look over her shoulder.  She’d heard a clacking sound.  She carefully watched the bones of the other heathen kings.  They looked more like dirt in the shape of bones than actual bones.  One touch would set them crumbling.  But she was certain she heard something…

“…then with our blood mixed together, he will bless all unions of our blood.  You know what I mean?”

Pria looked to her left.  Movement?  Then she turned to look at Fire.

“No, I don’t know.”

He was staring at his scuffing toes and the fingers of his free hand were fidgeting fretfully with his shirt sleeve.

“You know.  Like.  If we had children.”

“Children…?”

A shadow moved behind Fire.  Pria screamed and turned to run.  Something grabbed her wrist.  She screamed again and swung back to fight the skeleton king that had grabbed her.  In the last instant before her candle went out, she saw it was Fire who had grabbed her.  Then she stumbled into him, knocking his candle to the ground.  True darkness.  Pria didn’t know what else to do other than to scream again and run, but she was tangled with Fire and all she accomplished was sending them both sprawling to the semi-soft ground.  She sat up, her instincts telling her to get up and run, run anywhere, but then she felt arms around her.  Warm, living arms that were probably more familiar to her than they should be.  She hugged Fire back and pulled herself close to his living, breathing body.  She began sobbing, the sound muffled by the earth cave.

Fire let Pria cry on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles on her back with his hands.  He wondered what had suddenly terrified her into bolting like a frightened animal.  He hoped with all his heart it wasn’t the thought of having children with him.

“Oh, Fire,” Pria sobbed into his neck, “I’m sorry.  I just thought I heard something.  And then I saw something.  I’m sorry, but I’m scared.  I don’t like it down here!”

“Pria, don’t be sorry.”  He was relieved it was the place and not him that had scared her.  “There’s nothing strange about being nervous or scared down here.  Most of my siblings don’t really like it either.  Only Winter doesn’t mind it so much.  All the others only come once a year when they have to.”

Pria sniffed.  “Even Leaffall?”

“Especially Leaf.  He hates being in tiny spaces.  Probably because Ice locked him in one of the trunks at school once and he wasn’t found until the next morning.”

“Oh, poor thing!  Now I think I understand him a little better.”

“Don’t go feeling sorry for him.  He passes the torment down the line easily enough.”

Pria let out a sound that was half sob, half laugh.  That was an improvement.

“Pria,” he said softly, barely above a whisper, but in the stillness it was quite audible.  “You shouldn’t ever be afraid when you’re with me.  I’d never let anything hurt you.  Just stay with me.  Always.”

He pulled back from her and took her face in his hands.  He was going to have to make an educated guess in the pitch black, so he used his hands as some sort of reference.  He leaned forward slowly until he felt her lips, slightly off center.  He moved a little to the left, and kissed her.  It was tentative and he left his lips pressed together.  It was his first kiss and he wasn’t entirely sure he was doing it right.  He thought it might be Pria’s first kiss too as all she did was allow herself to be kissed.  Then she pushed him away.

“We can’t!” she gasped.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my brother!”

For one horrible moment he thought that maybe his father and Azurite had somehow had an affair years ago when his mother was still alive.  But that just didn’t make any sense.

“What do you mean?”

“My mother is married to your father!”

“So?”

“So.  That makes us…step-siblings.”

“Step siblings?”

“Yes.  We’re brother and sister by marriage.”

Fire laughed.  “People can’t become brother and sister by marriage.”

“They can in my country.  And where I’m from you’re not allowed to like your stepbrother!”

“Not allowed to…but do you?”

She wouldn’t answer.  Fire would have danced a jig if he thought he could stand up without her freaking out at the thought he was leaving her.  He took her hands in his.

“Pria,” he sighed her name and leaned forward to kiss her again.

She pulled one of her hands free and somehow managed to place it squarely on his face in the dark.

“I said we can’t!  As long as our parents are married we are brother and sister and must act like brother and sister.”

Fire frowned, and then chuckled.  “Well then, I’ll make it my mission in life to break up our parents.”

“You would make Roselite, Celestite, and Barite live with divorced parents?”

“As opposed to living with two parents that can’t stand each other?”

“Oh.  You picked up on that, did you?”

“It’s kind of hard to miss.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for several moments.  Fire was vacillating between elation that Pria liked him too and despair that she seemed to think they couldn’t ever be together.  Well, the former was more crucial than the latter, so he figured he was already ahead of the game.  And at least she was calm now.  He released her other hand to feel around in the dirt for the snuffed candles.  Pria squealed and leapt forward, crashing into him and laying him out flat on his back.

“Don’t leave me!”

“Pria!  I was just going to look for the candles.  You know, the ones you knocked to who knows where on the ground?”

“Oh, right.”

Fire wasn’t quite old enough yet to have really dreamed about being in this position in the dark with a girl, but his body seemed to know what to do without him.  He swallowed nervously and hoped she was too wound up to notice anything else.

“Pria, can you get off me, please?”

“Oh, right.  Sorry.”

She sat up, sitting squarely on his hips.  He bolted upright and dumped her off.

“Fire!”

“Sorry.  Help me feel around for the candles.”

“I’m not sticking my hands in this dirt!”

“It’s just dirt!”

“It has dead people in it!”

“They’re in the walls!”

“I’m not going to—”

“Oh, here, I found one.  Now, hold it still and away from your body.”

Fire carefully got the striking stones out.  If he dropped one or both, they would probably be gone.  Then he felt for the candle, and tried to strike them in the place where he thought the wick was.  He tried several times.

“Why is it not lighting?”

“Because I can’t see the wick.  It has to be struck right on it.”

“You did it upstairs when it was dark.”

“I could still see it though.”

“Ow!  That hit my hand.”

“Sorry.  Hold it back out.”

“No.  That really hurt.”

“Pria, do you want to walk all the way back to the top, past the chained priest, past the tunnel, with no light?”

“Here, here.  I’ll leave my finger there.  Aim here.”

Fire struck the stones together near her fingers.  She cursed in pain as the wick caught and the candle flared to life.  They actually had to squint and look away from the meager light.  However, their eyes adjusted quickly and the light barely illuminated the space around them.  They could see Earth Child though.  He grinned at them.

Fire got to his feet and helped Pria to hers.  She brushed the dirt off her backside and then looked at him somewhat abashedly.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“That’s okay.  Rain threw up on me the first time he was down here.”

Pria laughed.  “Well, at least I’m not that bad.”

“Of course, he was sick at the time.  I don’t know what your excuse is.”

“Hush.”

“Help me find the other candle.”

They stayed close together and felt through the dirt with their feet, but they couldn’t find where the candle had landed.  The one Fire had found had been the short one.  He debated whether they should keep looking or head on.  The short one probably wouldn’t get them all the way back to the top, but it would get them most of the way there.  If they kept looking for the other one and didn’t find it, it might snuff out while they still had a long walk to go.  Fire wasn’t particularly worried about getting lost, all they had to do was keep their hand along the wall and follow it up, but even he was not thrilled about walking for so long in utter darkness.

“Pria, we better just let it go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, right now this one will get us…to the top.  But we need to leave now.”

“Okay.”

They joined hands and left at a quick pace, but one that wouldn’t threaten the delicate flame.  Pria felt like they were covering a good bit of ground, as they had to make the now left turns to go up, but she also realized how far they had actually been going down.  She was starting to get a little winded as they went up and up.  She recognized about halfway through it when they were in the Great Hall.  That meant she had the mean looking Queen Consort Ka behind her and the chained priest in front of her.  Not a pleasant place to be with so little light.  Fire was talking about something, trying to distract her, but around his words she heard sounds.  That clacking sound…like the way she imagined bone hitting bone would sound.  She couldn’t stop herself from glancing back at every turn.  She never saw anything, but then, the light wasn’t strong enough to show more than one or two steps back.  After what seemed like endless walking, at every turn Pria expected to see the grey light that signaled the exit.  But every turn just led to another dark chamber.  They couldn’t possibly have traveled through so many on the way down; perhaps they were getting turned around at the corners and were heading back down.  Though it did still feel like the ground was sloping up.

“Fire, how much longer?” she finally dared to whisper.

Fire took his eyes off the pittance of wax they had left to support the flame and glanced at Pria’s frightened face.

“Not too much farther,” he said.  “After this turn, we’ll be in the chamber with Queen Hyanna.”

“And the tunnel?”

“There’s nothing down the tunnel.  Now come on.  Just keep walking with me.”

Pria didn’t have a chance to be anxious as they passed by the warrior queen’s barrow because Fire tugged on her insistently and made her almost jog past it.  Then he had to slow down as the light flickered.  Pria finally took a look at the candle.  Fire was holding it with the tips of his fingers.

“Is that going to last?” she squeaked.

“If we hurry,” Fire lied.  He wondered what he was going to do when the candle sputtered out.  Take the time to calm her down, or just knock her out and carry her out.  He didn’t think he was actually physically capable of the latter.  Hopefully Pria wouldn’t take off running in the wrong direction.

They hurried on, up and up, watching the precious wax drip over Fire’s fingers.  But he didn’t complain, and he never wavered despite how unpleasant it must be.  Pria knew he was doing that for her.  But she couldn’t let herself think about how that made her feel.  Though she should have; it might have distracted her from her imagination.  She kept hearing the bones.  And dragging sounds.  But Fire didn’t react to them, so she made herself believe they weren’t real.  When the sound came again, it was closer.  Definitely closer.  Louder.  She turned back to look.

“Don’t stop,” Fire commanded.

They turned another corner and she looked at the candle.  Fire held his hand out flat and the last centimeter of candle rested on his palm.

“Come on,” Fire said.  “We might actually make it.”

They scurried up the next hall, all of Fire’s concentration on keeping the candle balanced.  Something scraped on the stone behind them.

“Fire!  Do you hear that?!”

“Hear what?”

The clatter again.  Right behind them.  Fire pulled her to the left around a corner.  She looked back.  At the corner, a thin, bone hand, stained with blood, grabbed the wall and pulled, dragging something behind it.  The candle spluttered and went out.  Pria screamed and ran.

“Pria!” Fire called after her and followed her around the last turn.  There he saw her dark silhouette against the barely visible grey light filtering in from the opening of the cave.  At least she was heading in the right direction.  Fire jogged up the slope, convinced she would be okay once she was outside.  He saw her scramble up the stairs on all fours.  Well, at least she’d stopped screaming.

When Fire reached the top, the sun was about an hour from setting, but by comparison to the barrows it was bright as any summer day during the sun’s zenith.  He stepped over the jagged stones of the entrance and walked to where Pria knelt on the ground, curled into herself, and shaking.  He spoke her name before touching her so she wouldn’t be quite as startled.  As soon as his hand touched her shoulder she sprung up with lightening speed and startled Fire into taking a step back, but she had been aiming for him.  She grabbed him and tried to force her body to stop shaking by pressing it against his.  Fire hugged her back, and was somewhat annoyed that he couldn’t be taller.  She had to bend her head to reach his shoulder.

“It was Earth Child,” she murmured.

“What?”

“He was chasing us.  I saw him!”

Fire patted her back and wondered how he could tell her she was crazy without hurting her feelings.

“Um.  Are you sure you saw him?”

“Yes!  At the last corner.  I looked back and saw his hand.”

“But, we could barely see our own feet by that point.  How could you have seen it back at the corner?”

Pria considered this.  “Well.  Because he wanted me to see him.”

Fire tried to hold back his small laugh.  “Why would he chase us?  He never has before.”

“Because.  Because.  I was down there and he knows.”

“Knows what?”

“That.”  She suddenly lifted her head.  He had to look up a little in order to meet her eyes.  Then she took his face in her hands and kissed him.  Fire stood stunned, somewhat unprepared for the advanced kissing lesson.  At the back of his mind he thought that maybe Pria wasn’t quite as inexperienced as he was.  The she hugged him again.

“I love you, Fire.”

A long time ago when he was a child, he had visited the Creevat’taugh nation with his father.  In their capital city their visit had been marked by a celebration.  Through some miracle (though they claimed it was just some kind of powder) they had made the night sky light up with bright colors and booming sounds.  He had felt awed by the sight and it was one of his happiest memories.  That was nothing compared to this.

“P-pria.  I love you too!  We’re still a little young, but I bet I could talk my father into letting us enter into a formal engagement—”

“Fire,” Pria sighed.  “I told you, we can’t be together.”

“But you live _here_ now.  So it doesn’t matter.  And here, it doesn’t matter if our parents our married.  So long as there are four degrees of separation in our blood, which there definitely are, we can get married.”

“We can’t,” Pria stated firmly.

“But—”

“I’m not staying here!  Mama is making me leave.”

Fire’s heart lurched in his chest.  “What?”

“Tomorrow,” she moaned miserably.  “Today is my last day in O-nam.”

Fire pushed her back and held her by the shoulders.  She kept her head turned to the side and her eyes pointed down.

“How can we not know this?!  Your mother can’t just…divorce my father!  It’s not that simple!  She swore a blood oath to him and the family!”

“ _She’s_ not leaving.  She’s just making Maho and me go back home.  For schooling.”

“I’ll tell my father.  He’ll stop it.”

“He agreed to it.  He says it’s a woman’s right to decide how she wants to educate her children.  He won’t stop it.”

“He will if I ask him.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because.  Mama’s right.  I do have to go back to Pendra.”

Fire’s brow creased in confusion.  He wasn’t very good at geography, but he’d never even heard of Pendra.

“Is that in the Peninsula?”

“No.  It’s an island in the South Sea.  And you can’t tell anyone I told you that or the name.  I wasn’t supposed to tell you.  And I wasn’t supposed to tell you I was leaving.”

“So, what, we would just wake up tomorrow and find you and Maho gone?”

“No.  We were going to say goodbye in the morning.”

Fire let go of her and clenched his jaw.  Neither spoke for several long minutes.

Then Fire said, “How could you not tell me, Pria?”

“Because, like you, I have obligations to my family.  And I have to obey my mother.”

Fire twisted his toe on the black stone.  “But you’ll come back, right?  When you’re done with school?”

Pria shrugged.  She opened her mouth to say something, but then didn’t.  Fire looked at the sinking sun.

“We better get going.  It’ll be dark by the time we reach the School on the Hill.”

Pria nodded in answer.  Fire untied the horses and led them both as they started the walk back to normal ground.  They shuffled slowly in silence, the only sound the odd clicking of the horses’ iron shoes on the stone.  Fire felt badly.  He didn’t want their last day together to end so miserably.  So when they reached the end of the black stone field, he helped her onto her horse and teased her about her poor coordination.  She growled at him and made a comment about his height.  Instead of taking it hard and scowling for the next half hour, he just laughed.  Pria managed a small smile.  They chatted and laughed for most of the ride back as if they had never spoken of Pria’s impending departure.

When they reached the other side of the sandstone tunnel, twilight settled gently around them.  They could see the city of Shrija already lit up for the night, glimmering in a large lopsided circle in the middle of the dark fields.  Up above the stars were doing their best to shine through the remnants of sunlight.  The moon was already quite visible, being large and completely full this night.  They dismounted and joined hands as they began the walk down the path that led to the city.  They walked in companionable silence, enjoying the night symphony of birds and insects that spoke only when there was darkness to conceal them.  That serene melody was disturbed only once as Fire yelped when Moon Treader nipped him on the buttocks.

 

Azurite held her tongue, just barely, and forced her hands to stay in her lap and not reach for her knife.  Her husband and several of his cronies laughed raucously at the crude joke made at her expense.  Everyone else in the dining hall looked over from their tables at the large table where the adult members of the royal family dined.  They were used to these outbursts, however, and returned to finishing their meals.  These meals had never been what she would call a pleasant experience, her husband could put away enough food to put a hog to shame, but they had been bearable.  Until his older brothers, Silmon and Sildun, had come in from their holdings for a visit.  She didn’t mind Sildun so much, but Silmon was a fool in possession of an unnaturally loud and carrying voice.  She thought it was a gross primitiveness of the O-nam people that they brewed no kind of wine or spirits at all and rarely drank what little they imported from other countries, but she was thankful for that rarity when Silmon visited.  No doubt he was the kind of man who would be a heavy drinker and a mean drunk.

She spotted her husband’s children as they stood up from their table.  It was a strange custom that no one at any table may leave before the last person was finished, which was why she was currently stuck at the mercy of her husband and his brothers and “counselors.”  The children made a deliberate path past their father’s table in order to say goodnight to him, little Brooke holding onto her big brother Ice’s hand possessively.  Her own children by the great oaf were still fed in the nurseries.  As they murmured their goodnights to their father and uncles, Azurite saw pretty Fire looking as sullen as she’d ever seen him.  He glanced at her, but kept walking.  This quite surprised her.  He alone of the dead queen’s children never failed to be friendly and polite to her.

“Fire,” she called to him.

He walked over obediently and focused on his toes.

“You’re not going to give me my kiss goodnight?”

He stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek.  He didn’t bolt away; he was too polite for that.  But he kept his head hung low and his fingers fidgeted.  Azurite let out a small sound that was a cross between a sigh and an irritated huff.

“Pria told you, didn’t she?”

Fire nodded glumly.

“I knew it would make you sad.  That’s why I didn’t want you to have to sulk about it for weeks on end.  Didn’t you enjoy your last days with Pria and Maho better since you didn’t have to be sad?”

He shrugged a shoulder.

“Now, Fire, wouldn’t you be sad if you had to leave your family and couldn’t see them?  It’s been four years.  The girls need to go home to be with their family.  You understand that, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“I thought you would, clever as you are.  You can write letters, of course.  Keep in touch.  They won’t be gone forever.”

Fire finally lifted his head up and looked at her with those eyes that were so like the waters of home.  “She won’t be gone long then?”  He cleared his throat and corrected himself by asking.  “When will they be back?”

“Well, it will be some time, darling.  They do have schooling they must catch up on.”

“But.  We have schools here.”

“I know.”

She offered no explanation as to why Pria and Maho needed a different kind of education.

“You won’t hold it against me, will you, darling?”

Fire shook his head.

“There’s a good boy.  Give me another kiss and head on to your chambers.  I heard Fiora saying she was going to clean out the ears of anyone late for their bath.”

Fire leapt forward to kiss her on the cheek again and then dashed to the large double doors where his other siblings had already disappeared some time before.  She smiled after him and then clucked her tongue.  Perhaps there was some hope that her children by the beast would turn out pretty and sweet.  The other royal children were handsome enough, but definitely wild little creatures.  Fire was an anomaly.  Either that or the dead queen had had a little something on the side.  But considering how seriously these people took their Bloodline, she doubted it.

It was another painful hour of listening to her husband and the other nitwits at the table talk and laugh and eat before finally she was released from their company.  She returned to her own quarters to have the smoke and grease from the hall washed off her.  The bath was already full of steaming water when she arrived and scented with apple blossom.  Not her favorite, but her husband’s.  She turned to look at her servant, a girl she’d brought with her from home because she couldn’t trust the women here.

“Has my husband asked for me this night?” she asked.

Loama gave a slight shake of her head.  “No.  I just assumed…”

She trailed off and looked away.  Azurite frowned.  Had she been visiting the ogre so often lately?

“Do you want me to change the water?”

The fact that Loama did not add “my lady” to the end of the question let her know that they were alone and free from any O-nams.

“No, of course not.  I think I must speak with him tonight anyway.  About the girls’ departure and how long he intends to wait to pick an heir.”

“Yes, my lady, to _talk_ with him.”

Azurite shot her a dirty look, but Loama just laughed and began to undo the fastenings of her yellow silk gown.  She was very proud of the work she had done on this one and Maho’s embroidery on the sleeves was flawless.  Why had she worn it tonight?  To attract that warthog’s attention?  Surely not.

Once free of the gown she slid into the hot water and relaxed against the warm oak back.  She left her black hair piled on top of her head; she didn’t have time to let it dry tonight.  Loama pulled up a stool behind her and began to massage her shoulders and neck.  Azurite groaned softly and melted under her ministrations.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said to the pretty girl.  She had given up a very comfortable position back home to come with her to the Belt.  Azurite suspected an unwanted marriage had something to do with it, but surely being in virtual exile could be no better.

“I don’t mind.  Besides, Vinas doesn’t get off until eighteenth hour tonight.”

“Ah,” said the queen consort with understanding.  “He is a man worth waiting for.”

“Mm.  Do you think I could take him back to Pendra?”

“No.”  She didn’t say it harshly, but neither would she pour honey over it.

“No, I didn’t think so.  Your hair is getting long.  Would you like me to cut it tomorrow?”

“No.  Not yet.  He likes it long—”  Azurite’s eyes snapped open.  “Cut it tonight, please.”

Loama chuckled again, but said nothing as she rose from the stool to go in search of a pair of scissors.

An hour later, Azurite sat at a desk in her husband’s empty bedroom chamber, reading over a letter she had just written, and absently playing with the ends of her hair where it tickled her earlobe.  It was a relief to have the heavy weight gone, and she’d been able to wash it since it dried quite quickly now.  She wore a dressing gown of pale blue made from the lower quality silk she and her daughters had separated from their silkworms’ production.  It was silk all the same though.  Why had she worn this to greet her husband in if all she did indeed want to do was talk?  It clung to her figure almost as tightly as he did.

Azurite started as the doors banged open behind her.

“Your highness,” a servant said fretfully.  “The queen consort is—”

“Wife!”

Azurite turned in her chair to see the man strutting into his room, already disrobed from the waist up.  The servant behind him bit his lip and held the king’s shirt and robe in his arms.  Azurite’s eyes flicked over her husband.  He was a big man.  Not fat, not exactly, but very tall, broad through the shoulders, muscled heavily in chest and arms with a large, but flat gut.  Dark hair covered his chest and tapered to a line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants where the large theme was continued.  So unlike her beloved dead first husband, God rest his soul.  She brought her eyes back up to his face.  She supposed he was handsome, though it was hard to tell with that damned beard.  She did like his eyes though.  They weren’t the breathtaking blue of Fire’s eyes, but they were a dark, stormy blue.  Blue eyes were something she had never encountered until coming to the Belt.  She had a weakness for them.

“What brings you to my bedroom, my glittering gem?” he asked with a sweet smile, but mocking voice.

Azurite moved her eyes to get the servant’s attention.  He straightened and stopped chewing his lip when he saw her looking at him.

“You may go.  Thank you for delivering him safely here.”

“Yes, of course,” he stammered.  “But, I need to finish—”

“Oh, be gone, Jun.  I’m certain my wife can undress the rest of me.”  He roared with laughter and slapped the blushing servant on his back, who staggered under the blow.

“Yes, highness.”

He made a quick bobbing motion with his head, which is how the people honored royalty rather than bowing, and then fled from the chamber.  Siltin kept his eyes on his wife as he crossed the room to remove his boots with the help of a cleverly whittled piece of wood.

“What do you want?” he asked, in a quieter voice but no less mocking.

“There are a couple of items I would like to discuss with you.”

“Aren’t there always?” he asked with a chuckle.

He grunted as he got the second boot off.  Then he strode barefoot across the cold stone floor.  She really hated that he would not put down carpets in his chambers.  He claimed he didn’t feel the cold, even in winter, but she always shivered in his bedroom on the hottest day of summer.  Another reason to question why she’d worn a silk shift.  Surely wool or even cotton would have been warmer.  Once he was beside her, he placed a large, meaty hand on the desk she was sitting at and leaned close to her.

“I bet I can guess the first topic.  They will be gone in a month.”  He grinned at her.  “I know how you hate having to share me.”

Before she could respond he put a hand in her hair and crushed his lips onto hers.  She gripped his arm tightly with a hand, her fingers splayed out across the large, hard muscle of his biceps.  She didn’t think about pushing him away.  She knew she needed to speak with him on some matters, but it just didn’t occur to her to try to make him stop.  He pulled back of his own accord, leaving her breathless and her lips throbbing with his kiss.  He turned her head to the side as he examined what he grasped in his hand.

“What happened to your hair?”

“I had it cut.”

She slid out of the chair, keeping it in between herself and the troll.

“I can see that you cut it—”

“Then why did you ask?” she snapped.  “I’m thrilled to hear of your brothers’ departure and only lament it won’t be sooner.”

Siltin started to walk around the chair and Azurite backed away around the desk.  She put out hand to slow him down.

“Speaking of departures, is everything ready for my daughters’ tomorrow?”

“Of course, my heart.  An armed escort will travel with them to Shreven Port where they will be put on one of my best ships and sailed to the Gong-nam pass.  There the escort will take them down to the South Sea where your own vessel should be waiting to pick them up.”

“Good,” Azurite said, wondering why her voice sounded so strange.

Siltin’s eyes had darkened and he had to push the desk roughly across the floor in order to fit through the space between it and the wall that Azurite had slipped through with no difficulty.

“I still don’t see how that is faster than just taking the girls directly south to the ocean.”

“I have my reasons.”

“You always have your reasons, my pet.”  He grabbed her arm to prevent her further retreat and placed a finger to her temple.  “I’m always wondering about what goes on in here.”

He started to lower his head again, but she pushed as hard as she could on his chest.  All that accomplished was getting him to hesitate as she really was no match for him physically.

“I am thinking about succession, my king.”

He straightened and laughed.  “Are you?  Making plans for Rosie already?”

“Not at all.  Snow and Ice will reach their majority next year.  That will make them old enough to go on their journey, will it not?”

He raised an eyebrow at her and released her arm.  Then he began to remove his belt.

“It does.  Are you suggesting I name one of them heir?”

“The sooner the better.  I’ve always said this open-ended succession is a dangerous thing.  If you were to die suddenly there could be a violent debate of who should succeed.”

Siltin smiled wryly as he removed his pants and drawers in one motion.  “Are you _planning_ for my sudden death, my sweet?”

She pursed her lips and kept her eyes firmly locked with his.  “No.  I’m just concerned that if something did happen to you, the ancestors forbid—” He smiled at her intentional use of the O-nam oath “—I wouldn’t put it past one of those slimy brothers of yours trying to steal the throne from your children so that theirs may sit upon it.”

Siltin shrugged and moved forward, placing his hands on the neck of the shift.  “It makes no difference so long as they are of the Blood.”

“But—”

She cried out in surprise when he suddenly gathered the fabric in his hands and tore it open.  She was outraged, but also impressed.  Silk was very strong.  She beat at his arms with her fists as she cursed.

“You are nothing but an animal!  I love this shift!”

“I love it too,” the man laughed lasciviously and pulled again, ripping it far enough to expose her breasts.

He picked her up so his face became even with her chest and she beat on his shoulders and head with gusto and a lot of loud protests, but they both knew she wasn’t really putting up a fight.  He flung her onto the bed and crawled up after her, tearing the shift all the way to the hem to completely expose her.  She put up a hand to stop his aim of kissing her again, but this time he would not be deterred.

“I’m not done—” she started, but was forced into silence.  Well, not silence, but she was no longer using words.  This was absurd.  She hated this pompous boor.  He was everything she hated in a man: large, arrogant, self-involved, brash, convinced of his own rightness.  He repulsed her.  She’d had no idea what she’d been getting herself into when she’d worked so hard to gain this marriage.  All of the major countries of the Belt had a high ranking Pendran in their midst, sent to keep the world leaders in check and maintain order.  None of them knew it of course, but it was easier to let them think they governed themselves.  Queen Consort River dying when the previous O-nam watcher had retired was quite fortuitous.  Not that she had wished for the woman’s death, but it certainly was convenient.  No other Pendran had managed to gain so high a position in any country as she would as the second queen consort of King Siltin of O-nam.  She just hadn’t known she’d be tying herself to such a man.  She reviled his company and regularly lost control of the temper she was usually so proud of.  She’d thought she would only have to endure his bed just long enough to get one healthy child out of him and secure her position.

Unfortunately, she didn’t “endure” his attentions.  She sought them out, encouraged them, and participated with alacrity.  How was it possible that such a brute and lout could induce in her a pleasure as such she’d never felt before?  Never even come close to before, God forgive her for the insult to her beloved dead first husband.

Even now, as irritated as she was that he had cut her off, she buried one hand in his short, dark hair and pressed the other against his back to feel the muscles ripple under her fingers as he moved above her.  She supposed this was why she was three months pregnant with their fourth child in as many years.  Where was her will power and self-control?  She’d spent a year of deprivation at the Temple of the Heart.  Why could she not go three days without succumbing to this man’s hands?  And lips, and tongue.

“Oh, God,” she gasped as he moved to her throat.  He laughed at her softly, sending a delectable vibration of pleasure through her whole body.

“Ugh, you pig!  Let me speak.  We need to discuss this!”

His hands parted her thighs, but he did nothing more than lay between them as he kissed her neck.

“So talk,” he mumbled.

“Snow and Ice.  One or both should go.”

She bit her lip as his fingers traced teasing circles on her hip.

“You would advise me to select Snow or Ice?  Do you really feel either is suited?”

“More so than Leaffall.”

“Isn’t that the honest truth.”  His lips moved to her clavicle, his hand sliding up the side of her body.  She knew better than to shift at the sensations, not with his precarious position between her thighs and the rare instance that she had his partial attention while in bed.

“It will be too long before Winter and Frost would be old enough.  It’s too long to wait for the youngest ones.  Or even our own.”

“Would you prefer it to be one of your own?”

“I might.  But it’ll be twenty-two years before Roselite could go.  You’ll be quite ancient by then, husband.”

He raised his head to look at her.  He had a lopsided smile on his face.  “Probably still virile though.”

“As if I would have you!”

“You’ll have me now then.”

He rose up to his knees and grabbed her hips with his hands to position her.

“Wait!  I will have an answer.”

“To what?”

“Who will be your heir!”

Siltin frowned at her, but didn’t proceed with his ultimate goal.  Though she knew he would get there before too long.

“I haven’t made a decision yet, wife, because I do not know who to pick.  Snow is unsuited and Ice…well, I love the boy but I would be afraid to see him in a position of real power.  Right now he does not appear to have much ambition and I don’t want to encourage it with any whisperings.  Now, Leaffall…”  He paused for a moment, reaching out with a hand to massage one of his wife’s breasts as he mused.  “I could see him having the ability to be a good leader, but he’s still quite hot-headed.  I need time to see how he will turn out.  Frost is a good boy, but as I’m sure you’ve noticed, not the brightest star in the sky.  Winter.  Well, even I agree with you that she’s a little wild.”

“A little?” Azurite mumbled, trying, unsuccessfully, to remove her husband’s hand from her breast.

“She’s smart though.  Very smart.  Maybe too smart,” he chuckled.  “And Air, Rain, and Brooke are still babies.  It’s impossible to tell how they will turn out.”  His hand paused momentarily and he frowned.  “Who am I forgetting?”

“Fire,” Azurite said dourly.

“Ah, Fire.”  Siltin’s face softened.  “Hm.  Never was a child so misnamed.  He should have been named Kitten.”

Azurite snorted ungracefully.  “That boy has a fire in him.  It burns quite passionately for my daughter.”

Siltin grinned and grabbed both of her breasts.  “Can you blame him?  Especially if she turns out half as beautiful as you, my dear.”

“You flatter me, my lamb.  You wouldn’t consider Fire, would you?”

“Of course not.  I would never do that to him.  He I will let live as he pleases.  The life of a king is too full of sinister intrigue and intricate administration.”

“It can’t be that hard.  I’ve seen you do it.”

Siltin laughed and leaned forward to kiss her lips passionately, his hands squeezing her ruthlessly.  She would rather submit to this treatment than admit she thought the jackass could manage his country well.  O-nam was the epicenter of economic trade in the Belt.  Almost every country and nation had a working, if not necessarily friendly relationship with the kingdom, which could not be said of the relationships of the other countries amongst themselves.  If two nations were at odds, trade had to go through O-nam and the king made sure his country profited from that while at the same time expertly managing the feuding dignitaries.  She rarely had to make suggestions to him for the best course of action, which was a good thing since she wasn’t sure he would heed her anymore than the whinnies from his favorite horse.  She was very fortunate that the dolt knew what he was doing or she would have some explaining to do to the Council back home.  As it was now, they thought she was doing an excellent job of managing him.  Though all she seemed to manage to do was incite an unholy lust in the man.  But she couldn’t ever quite bring herself to regret that.

She sucked in a much needed lungful of air as he pulled back from her.  He had a quizzical look on his face as he squeezed her breasts, but no longer in a lusty manner.  He moved his hands to feel them thoroughly.  Then he grinned down at her, white teeth bared in his dark beard.

“Wife.  Are you with child?”

Azurite gasped, astonished for an instant.  Then she scowled at him.

“Only a truly perverted he-goat could tell the difference in a woman’s breasts so early,” she griped at him.

He laughed, in that truly arrogant way he reserved for when he’d gotten her to succumb to his most obscene fantasies.  He kissed her lips, and then her throat, the valley between her breasts, her stomach, and finally he put his hands to her abdomen and kissed her there.  She shifted her hips slightly, not feeling moved by the paternal display, but embarrassingly for want of him to go lower still.

“Ah, wife, you’ve given me three beautiful, good-natured daughters.”  He looked up and smiled at her as his hand covered her abdomen possessively.  “I would adore a fourth.  But, let’s make this one a son, hmm?”

Azurite scoffed.  “I hardly have any control over that.”

“You’re right.”  Siltin heaved himself up.  “I’d better put as much of my influence _into_ it as possible.”

She choked back an oath and was irritated that she blushed.  But nothing could be done to deter him now.  And she was done deterring him anyway.

Damn the bastard, but he was right.  It was too soon to pick an heir from amongst his children.  But she was going to have to keep her spoon in the pot.  She had a mission to fulfill.  A mission not sanctioned by the Council, but one she was determined to see through to the end.  Even if it meant putting up with this man.  And all of his parts.  It was a sacrifice she was willing to make.


	5. Guilt

Part 2: Departures

United Calendar 1022-1026

Northland

Myka carefully and precisely arranged the freshly baked rolls of winter flower bread on a red handkerchief that lined the inside of the basket one of his younger students have woven for him.  If only she were as skilled in her academic studies as she was in simple arts and crafts.  He had a feeling she’d spend her life in manufacturing, but she’d probably enjoy it.  Simple minds enjoyed simple work.

“Myka?”

He turned his head slightly to acknowledge his wife, but kept his eyes on the pattern he was creating with the bread.  “Yes, love?”

“It’s nearly time for his departure.  Didn’t you say he was leaving at third hour?”

“Yes.  But it’s only…”  Myka checked the clock that hung just outside the kitchen entrance.  “Oh, dear,” he sighed.  He only had twenty minutes.  “Thank you for keeping me in order, Paloma.  I would be lost without you.”  He quickly folded up the handkerchief and tucked the sides into the basket.  Then he picked it up and made his way to the front door.

“Don’t you need your outerwear?”

“I’ll spell myself warm.”  He paused at the door to kiss his wife.  “I won’t be gone long.”

She put a pale hand on his wrist to still his movements.  He didn’t have trouble meeting her hazel eyes, though he dropped his gaze after a few seconds.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Paloma asked gently.  “I know how much you care for him.”

“It’s his decision, not mine.”

“Is it,” she mused softly.  “Well then.  Give him my best.  And my wish for his return.”

Myka groaned softly and leaned against the door.  “I don’t think he wants that.”

“Tell him nonetheless.”

Myka turned his head to look at her.  She wasn’t pretty.  In fact she was quite plain, very soft-spoken, and not particularly clever.  His parents had pitched a fit when he’d announced his plans to marry her.  And they’d felt vindicated when she’d never been able to conceive.  He suspected that might be more his fault than hers, but there was no way of really knowing these things.  Not unless he allowed another man to sleep with his wife, which he was most definitely not willing to do.  He wondered how she felt about his kein duties.  He hadn’t been a kein when they’d met and married, so at the time his vow to forswear recreational sex and be faithful to her had in effect bound him as completely as it had her.  And then he’d become a kein and begun taking on students, two a year for the last twenty-three years.  He still held to his custom of holding off on practical sexual instruction until his students showed signs of entering sexual maturity, but that also meant he had twenty plus boys and girls that he “instructed” every year.  He wondered if Paloma ever wished to be released from her vow.  He was afraid to ask.  He wouldn’t share her.  So as long as she never brought it up, neither would he.

Paloma gazed back at him now, a placid expression on her face.  Not that he’d ever seen her agitated.  He leaned forward and kissed her again.

“My guiding light, do you forgive me?  If you do, nothing else matters.”

“My forgiveness will mean nothing if you don’t forgive yourself.”

“Ah.  Your softness always hides such a sharp blade.”

She smiled at this and reached up a hand to caress his cheek.  “Maybe you should ask him if there’s anything to forgive.”

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes.  “His feelings on the subject are inconsequential.  Isn’t that the point?” he questioned bitterly.

“Go on or you’ll miss him.  If you still need consoling when you get back, I’ll be here.”

Myka opened his eyes and smiled at her.  “Is that always on your mind, my love?”

She gasped in amused offense and pinched his cheek.  “That’s not what I meant!”

“It’s what _I_ meant.”

Myka kissed his wife one more time, and then pulled on the large, heavy door to the apartment they shared.  He ran through the hard metal halls and over the wooden bridge that led to granite hall.  It was a little bit longer of a route, but he should be able to get most of the way to the docks without having to step outside.  Winter was in full strength and the cold was nearly enough to freeze the blood inside a man’s body where he stood.  He let out a shrill keening noise as he opened the door before enacting his spell.  Even protected under his warming and shielding spells, his skin still burned from the blast of subarctic wind that had slapped him straight in the face.  He hoped the freezing air hadn’t completely sapped the warmth out of the bread in that brief instant.  Nothing was worse than winter flower bread that had been frozen and then thawed.

His feet echoed dully on the wooden pathway that led down to the docks.  He couldn’t see them due to the jagged rocks towering over his head on either side of the path, but he could hear the water lightly slapping against the pilings.  It was full dark out, as it had been for weeks now, without even a moon to offer her wan light.  There was a lantern at the end of the path, and Myka aimed for that, having to adjust occasionally as he brushed the rock walls even though the path was straight and true.  He got distracted once as he looked up: the veil was flush with stars so bright and numerous it was a wonder the darkness could prevail.  His feet faltered and he stopped, his gaze drawn to the heavens.  Amongst the familiar constellations were those pale stars that could only be seen during the middle month of the three months of night during winter.  Half a year from now, during the three months of day during the summer, the stars would be hidden from them; all except the two stars that were not true stars at all but traveled freely in the veil.

Despite the bitter cold, the dead of winter was his favorite time of year.  When he stood as he did now, in the all encompassing dark, sheltered from the soft glow of the residence warren behind with no frame of reference to tell whether he was up or down or still upon the earth, he felt he could stretch out an arm and scoop up a handful of stars.  They looked so large and so close.  He’d always wondered what the stars looked like up close, how they would feel in his hands.  He’d tried to spell his vision up to the stars since he was a child, but even after coming into the full bloom of his power he’d been nowhere near strong enough.  He’d asked Aya to do it for him once, a couple of years ago.  He rarely asked Aya to do anything for him anymore; after all, he was already asking him to do the greatest duty for country and god—he had no right to ask more of him.  But on those occasions when he gave into Aya’s almost laughable attempts at seduction, which were more pleading than anything else, he would ask for something in return.  That night they had lain together in the fields in the heart of Greenstate, the only place on the cold, rocky ground of Northland where there was enough real soil for farmland.  It had been mid-spring, the only time it was warm enough and yet still dark enough to observe the stars—without absurdly thick clothing and over-garments to protect the body from frostbite and hypothermia.  Or the ability to spell oneself safe for more than five or ten minutes.  Aya had sent up more than just his vision, but told him that they were too far away to reach.  All he got was a sense of heat, power, and pull.  He’d asked him what he meant by “pull,” but he’d only been able to explain it as a sensation of being pulled into the star, not with hands or rope, but seemingly from the spirits of the stars themselves.  Myka wondered: if stars had spirits, were they alive?

The North Star winked at him.  He shook himself and remembered his purpose, taking off again for the lantern light at the bottom with greater speed than before.  The lantern was hung on a wooden post where the path connected with the wide expanse of rock, wood, and metal docks.  It was a sound structure that could withstand the freezes of winter and the squalls of summer despite its haphazard looking and piecemeal construction.  Every generation of Northland reinforced and expanded the dock, never using the same material as the generation before it.  As he walked over the joint where wood met metal, Myka felt no shift under his feet.  It was completely solid.  The water hit the piling with little force, not able to splash up onto the top of the docks.  It was a calm splash which belied the cold sluggishness of the water as it was not hindered by the sound of ice chunks.  They must be having a mild winter.

Lanterns posted every three meters lit the dock that lined the entire coast that backed its rocky, almost cliff-like shore up against the city of Rauston.  A full five kilometers.  That was another reason the dock was such a marvel and why Rauston was the central hub of naval activity, boasting a full half of Northland’s navy, the most heavily visited markets by merchants, and the only port where foreign vessels docked.  That had been the reason Myka had accepted the offer to be a kein in Rauston, turning down the cushy position in the capitol.  He liked to know what was going on in the Belt, and catch what snippets of news he could get about the southern continent, filled with people who claimed to worship the Almighty but had corrupted His Word.

At the western most end of the dock, not too far from where the residence warren path led down to it, he was greeted with a very strange sight.  The dock was bustling with activity as sailors made final checks and loaded the last of the provisions onto the vessel that would set sail for the Belt in a matter of minutes.  The seamen were all big and burly (as burly as Northlander’s could get being a naturally slighter and less hairy race than those on the Belt) and clomping around with heavy crates in arms or hauling on ropes that lifted bigger crates over the water and onto the ship.  They were talking, shouting orders, grunting, laughing—or at least Myka imagined they were based on the movements of their bodies, arms, and mouths.  But he heard nothing.  No sounds came from the men, no creaking of ropes, no noises from the dock though it was full metal at the western end and should be ringing loudly with the heavy strikes of their boots.  Though he could still hear the water lapping against the pilings and the soft thuds as the ship reached the end of its short moorings and was hauled back into the dock.

Myka walked down the wood ramp that connected the two metal portions of dock and almost didn’t notice the sailor that called out to him.  He saw his waving arm, but heard no sound.  He didn’t know if the man was just marking his presence or showing his concern for his lack of outerwear.  He raised a hand in greeting and that seemed to satisfy the man as he oversaw the last crate hauled up the gangplank and the great loading pulleys being put back in their place.  Set apart from the workers, on a plaster bench, he saw him.

It was always a little bit of shock now to see Aya.  He had definitely been a late bloomer, not hitting his growth spurts until he was almost twenty, his voice remaining disconcertingly childlike until then.  But he was fully grown now, much taller than Myka, though that wasn’t saying much since Myka was shorter than most men _and_ women of Northland.  He wondered if that’s why he loved Paloma so much: she was a full three centimeters shorter than he.  But Myka had to admit that even using the height of a normal man of Northland as comparison, Aya was on the tall side of average.  He’d filled out nicely too, basing his rigorous exercise regimen on the notion that he must be physically as well as mentally and magically fit for his Mission.  His hair had never darkened though and remained stark white against the black of winter.  In fact, his hair and skin were so fair he seemed to be his own light source since he sat some distance from the nearest lantern.  Then Myka realized he might actually be creating his own light source and that’s why he appeared to glow.  Though some had argued that his beauty and magic were holy gifts and an ethereal light always hung about him.  Myka knew that was nonsense.  He’d spent enough time in dark rooms with the boy.

Man, he corrected himself.  Aya was twenty-eight now and no semblance of the moody, troublesome boy remained.  In fact, that boy seemed to have withered and died the year following the incident that revealed his power to them all.  He became quiet and still and wore a mask of such blankness on his face that no one ever knew if he was happy or sad, angry or appeased, paying attention or ignoring everyone.  And everyone praised him for it.  They praised his devoutness to the Almighty and the seriousness with which he prepared for his Mission to eliminate the infidel bloodline that occupied the Holy Land and hoarded the sacred bones of St. Savin.  It was no act.  Aya had accepted almost at once that he had been giving this calling by the Almighty Himself.  That the Almighty seemed to speak to him in the form of his kein-sha no one remarked upon.  The priests and the governors were all too swept up in the rising possibility of Aya’s success to allow themselves to acknowledge to whom exactly it was that Aya devoted himself.  Because if they did, some ancient scriptures called for a live burning to purge the false faith out of the afflicted.  And the false idol.  Myka shuddered.

Of course, Myka didn’t fully believe that Aya was doing this solely for him.  It may have been that way at first, but the more he learned and the more he grew, Myka could see his passion for the Almighty taking hold of his soul and wrapping it up tight as a clenched fist.  Not a very pure or peaceful way to worship the Almighty, but one that suited their purposes.  And that was all that mattered, right?  Myka frowned and walked toward his former student.

The men still worked and called to each other behind him, but Myka couldn’t hear it.  It wasn’t necessary, but he sent out a small tendril of magic to test the air.  Sure enough, the men had been spelled to silence, but only to outside observers.  Inside their little bubble, they could still hear each other, and the bubble moved as they did.  This was Aya’s doing.  He could spell thirty plus men into a confined, though shifting silence, create light around himself so he could read, spelled himself warm and shielded himself from the cold (as was evident by the fact that he sat in nothing but plain white cotton clothes on the plaster bench), and maintained a protective barrier around his meager belongings where they rested on the dock.  Through all this, he sat calm, unperturbed, his brow unwrinkled by any show of pain or stress.  The amount of magic he was simultaneously casting was staggering, but it was not a strain on him.  He could do more, much, much more.  And possibly he was doing more at this very minute though Myka wasn’t attuned well enough to sense it.  Myka stopped a few paces away, struck by a sudden powerful frisson that shook him to his core.  He always got that feeling when he realized exactly how powerful Aya was; how close he was to making his vision reality.  And like now, occasionally accompanied by shivers of excitement.  He hoped Aya wouldn’t notice; it was during these moments that he had inevitably given in to Aya’s less than subtle entreaties for physical intimacy.

Aya looked up from his book, meeting his eyes as if he had known he was there all along.  Had seen him coming since he left his apartment.  And possibly, he had.  Aya’s ability to cast his sight where he was not was unprecedented.  But then again, so were most of his abilities.  His lips moved, the barest turn upward, the closest he came to smiling anymore.

“I was hoping you’d come,” he said, his voice deeper than what one would expect from his slight body.  Though maybe Myka was just biased because he remembered when he used to speak in such a sweet, little boy alto.

Myka held out the basket.  “I made this for you.”  Suddenly he felt like a boy holding out a paltry present to his first crush.  He lowered his arms.  Aya was going to accomplish for him what he was unable to do for himself.  It seemed like he owed him so much more than baked goods.

“What kind?” Aya asked softly.

“Some plain.  Some blackberry.  A couple savory: potatoes and chicken with cilantro.”

“Hm.”  Aya stood.  “My three favorites.  Though considering I’m going to my death, you could have at least made three full loafs of each instead of splitting up one.”

Myka frowned as Aya took the basket from him and placed it and his book on top of his small pack.  Myka hadn’t spelled the basket itself, merely the space around his body.  So, when Aya took it, he had to have extended his own spell though Myka had felt nothing.

“You don’t have to leave now,” Myka said.  “You can wait for the sun’s return.”

“What would be the point of that?”

“It will be a safer journey.”

“Ah.  We mustn’t lose the payload.”

Myka clenched his hand into a fist in anger, but tried not to show it in his expression or voice.

“Paloma wishes for your safe return,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

“Does she?  I thought she’d be happy to be rid of me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“No,” Aya agreed.  “She’s not even jealous of me, which is galling considering all the effort I’ve put into trying to steal you away.  However temporarily.”

He picked up his pack and began to walk slowly down the dock toward the gangway of the ship.  Myka fell into step beside him.  He laid a hand on his wrist, forcing him to give him the better part of his attention.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Aya.  You _know_ you’re strong enough to contain a pressure wave in an external object and then leave.  You know you’d have enough power to get yourself far away before it went off.  This doesn’t have to be a suicide mission.”

“I disagree.  Anything could happen to the object once I leave it behind.  It could be moved, somehow corrupted if it is disturbed, go off too soon before the full bloodline is gathered.  No, it’s better that I stay and make sure it does what it is suppose to do when it is supposed to do it.  Besides, the bomb I’m planning on constructing will probably be able to take out the entire city of Shrija.  I couldn’t get myself far enough away in time.”

“But, Aya, there _has_ to be a way—”

“I don’t _want_ to come back, Myka,” he said sharply, the most emotion he’d heard from him in a long while.  Outside of the bed they shared.  “I can’t live in a world where I’m not first in your heart.”

“Even if Paloma were not in my life, you could never be first, Aya.  The Almighty and St. Savin take that place and always will.”

There was that ghost of a smile again.  “I know, Myka.  I’ve always known.”

“Because I’m willing to sacrifice you for their greater glory?” he asked angrily.  But the anger was directed at himself.

“Maybe.  But you should be glad to know that dying for your vision will make me happier than I’ve ever been.”

Myka grabbed Aya by the wrist and forced him to stop just at the foot of the gangway.  All the other sailors were already aboard, still eerily silent as they joked with and harangued each other, preparing to sail.

“And that’s wrong,” Myka hissed.  “Dying should not bring you happiness.  A martyr’s death is a holy one indeed and one to be proud of, but none, not even Deyton the Martyr, went to his death with glad anticipation.  The Almighty gave us life, and it is a sin to spurn that gift.  If you do this just to escape me, you won’t be a martyr…you’ll be committing suicide plain as that.  You will not be admitted to His kingdom.  You will simply vanish, cease to exist.”

Aya looked up at the stars.  “I can think of no greater reward,” he murmured.

Myka had to stand on his tiptoes in order to grab Aya’s face with his hands and force him to look down.

“I forbid it, Aya.  You will not die for me.  And I know you don’t go to die for the Almighty and the righteousness of the Northland people.  So, you will plant the bomb, and you will leave.  And you will return to me.”

Aya closed his eyes and covered Myka’s hands with his own.  His hands were cold.  Not due to any defectiveness of his spells, but because Aya was always cold.  Then he opened those pale, chill eyes and gave a real, though small, smile.

“It means everything to me that you care for me so.  I make you the promise that I will go into this with the intention of coming back.  However, it will have to be left to me to decide what is to be done to guarantee the success of the Mission.  As least we can agree on that being of the most importance.”

Myka opened his mouth to speak, but he could not.  He wanted to say that Aya’s life was more important than any mission, but he could not.  For in his heart he didn’t believe it.  Aya dropped his hands and picked up his pack where it had waited for him at hip height in the air.  The basket of winter flower rolls hadn’t even tilted.  How could he do all this?  Myka had been so distracted by their conversation that his spell had started to slip.  He reinforced the shield and was rewarded with a dull ache in his teeth.

Aya boarded the ship, the crew pulled up the gangway, and the captain shouted orders.  Myka still heard nothing.  He wondered if Aya would spell them all the way to the Belt; he really didn’t like loud noises.  The last mooring line was whipped from the metal grommet on the dock.  The Steerhand, the crewmember whose duty it was to magically power and steer the vessel in and out of ports, was hard at work moving the heavy ship.  He seemed to be straining quite a bit.  Aya probably could have done it for them without dropping any of his other spells.  Myka could have done it from where he shivered on the dock.  But they were exceptions.  The rule was men like the Steerhand who was magically stronger than any of the sailors, but could not help them during the course of the journey with either steering or propulsion.  He would have to conserve his strength in the event of a storm or some other calamity that required some means of protection.

Aya had disappeared from his sight.  Myka backed up to see if he could catch a glimpse of him on the starboard side; he hadn’t been ready for the back of his head to be the last thing he ever saw of him.  Then his bright head appeared on the lower deck, walking toward the back of boat putting him almost level with Myka on the dock.  Myka ran forward and caught his hand where his lover held it out to him.  He walked forward along the dock as Aya walked toward the back of the ship.

“Remember your eyes!” Myka said suddenly.  “That’s the only thing that won’t hold.  Never open your eyes when you awake without spelling them.”

“I know, kein-sha.”

Myka smiled painfully at the title.  He glanced down and saw the line of tiny lanterns that marked the end of solid ground and the fall to the icy drink below.  He looked back up quickly, tightening his grip on the white hand that was being pulled away from him.

“Can you ever forgive me, Aya?”

Aya shrugged.  “We’ll see.”

Then he leaned forward and kissed the back of Myka’s hand.  They released each other just as Myka reached the very edge of the dock.  The vessel moved on steadily, with Aya leaning on the rail, watching his mentor and his homeland recede, slowly at first and then quicker until only the pinpricks of the docks’ lanterns were all that were visible.  It wasn’t long before those were gone too and the ship sailed in utter blackness.  Up above the stars blazed forth like captives freed from the sun’s bright imprisonment.

Aya calculated how long it would take to get to the Belt: about three weeks according to the united calendar.  That was quite a long time to be on a boat.  The captain had informed him that it would only be a week or less of sailing south before they had sunlight again.  He wondered how long he would be stuck on the Belt with nothing to do other than practicing his physical transformations spells.  If it was a long enough period of time, he could try to make acquaintances there, which would hopefully lend his presence more credibility.  He might have quite a while to prepare: the king of O-nam had not named an heir according to the last Belt vessel that had made port at Rauston two months ago.  The king was still robust, being only in his late sixties.  He might wait another full decade before selecting an heir, giving his youngest children the chance to be old enough to be considered.

Aya contemplated that: a decade on the Belt before his Mission even began.  He sighed softly.  He should have brought more books.


	6. Relief

Part 2: Departures

United Calendar 1022-1026

Ahm

Sen sat still.  She hadn’t moved in the time it took the sun to move two finger’s width in the sky.  The chipmunk had stopped sitting up and looking around in false alarm quite a while back.  It seemed to be done eating its fill of the sunflower seeds Sen had placed in a pile less than a body length away from her, and was now stuffing its cheeks with the leftovers.  It would be done soon, and then it would be gone.  And the only break to the monotony of her day and living cell would be gone until tomorrow.  If it lived to come back.  She wondered what it was like outside the walls of City Three.  A thought she’d never had in the first sixteen years of her life, but one she contemplated more and more as the memory of the labyrinth of the city was getting harder to picture.

It had only taken a couple of weeks into her training for her Mission before her instructors insisted it was impossible to teach her anything properly while they were in Concealers.  The decision had been made to allow the males to disrobe and visit her in their skirts of woven plants, nothing but beaded vests covering their torsos, and at times going completely bare-chested.  She had to remain in her Concealer to protect them from the wicked sight of her body, with only a small slit cut into it at the level of her eyes and covered with dark gauzy silk allowing a quite hazy view of the world remaining to her.

After she had innocently mentioned the state of undress the men taught her in, elder woman Aa had banished her from the women’s quarters.  She was never allowed to step foot in the holy sanctity of a woman’s circle again.  So, she’d been secluded in the men’s quarters in a small cell behind the kitchens that contained a covered area for her to sleep under and small compartment with a hole dug in the earth for her to relieve herself in.  It was large and deep enough that after eight years of use it wasn’t filled to the top yet, but the smell was unpleasant no matter how much incense she burned in the corner.

She hadn’t stepped foot outside this cell since she had been put in seclusion, her male teachers coming to her and teaching her the best they could in the small courtyard.  They actually had no idea if or how well she was taking her lessons since her own Concealer prevented her from demonstrating her skills.  She practiced when she was alone though and had become so adept at calling and manipulating the elements that she no longer needed to offer a blood or tear sacrifice to them in order to make them do her bidding.  If she wished, she could easily get the elements to lift her up out of this cell and carry her somewhere far away.  Perhaps to a city that did not know of her, and did not know her shame, and would let her join another women’s circle.  But she did not wish this.  Her suffering, if it was indeed suffering, was done for the Mission and the glory of the Almighty.  She was lucky.  So few other people got to experience the kind of isolation she did, shielded from worldly happiness and desires that corrupted the soul and distracted from the holy worship of He Who Is Everything.  The fact that she allowed herself to wonder at the outside world and to watch the chipmunk eat, rather than practicing her art or praying, was a sign of her unworthiness.  But she already knew that.

She’d never truly believed that she was a holy Speaker called by the Almighty to perform the greatest of Missions and return the Holy Lands to its rightful caretakers.  She’d trained as was expected of her, but she refused to succumb to the arrogance that she was anything more than an insignificant flea crawling with her unworthy feet on the glory of the Almighty’s creation.  And she was even further convinced of this unworthiness due to the incident two years ago.

It must have been the dry season because she remembered how her hair was cracked and itchy under her Concealer.  She’d been picking at a hangnail on her thumb when she heard the voices of Su and the two men that aided in his instruction.  They were three fingers width worth of sun movement later than they usually were, but they weren’t late.  It was their right to come when their other duties allowed them to; her sole duty was to learn the secret male art of multiple element manipulation so that she could carry out her Mission.  Su and one other were detained by the voice she had come over the years to identify as a greatly respected elder, but not the spiritual leader of City Three’s men.  She’d never heard his name though.  The younger instructor, though he was probably ten years older than she, had continued on to her cell.  He’d opened the gate and leaned on the edge, half in and half out of her cell.  It would be indecent for the two of them to be alone in the cell together, but clearly he had been dismissed from the conversation taking place down the corridor.  They’d stayed silent and unmoving for quite a while before Sen, when moving to scratch her nose under the Concealer, had caught a glimpse of the man.

Up until then she’d only seen four men uncovered, but she was inclined to believe that this man was probably better looking than most.  His skin was tanned from the hot and bright, though fleeting, sun of the dry season.  His flaxen hair was braided from the scalp in seven braids—one for each of the holy beasts—and fell past his waist.  She couldn’t see his eyes, but she remembered they were a warm brown like melted chocolate.  His skirt was woven alternately with palm leaves and fern fronds, with stinging nettle mixed in.  The other men she’d seen wore thorny bramble in their skirts, which over time had been worn smooth in most places.  The stinging nettle never lost its bite and Sen believed the man to be admirably pious.  His beaded vest was a bit of a contradiction being quite intricate and colorful, a sign of vanity and pride, but Sen could forgive him that since it brought color into her drab, beige cell of granite.  She noticed a new addition to the vest, a strangely shaped bead hung from the clasp that held the vest closed at his breast.  She’d seen round, square, and triangular beads; beads rolled up like tubes of dough, multi-faceted like the eyes of a fly; made from glass, wood, plant material, stone, and clay; colors that ranged from the muted tan of her cell to bright colors she’d never seen before and had no names for.  But she’d never seen one like this: a small rectangle on the bottom that indented and then fanned into a ridged arch, colored stark white.  Quite on impulse, she’d asked the man what manner of bead he wore.  He’d replied that it was a “shell.”  She’d wondered briefly if that was a male word she should not know, but he wouldn’t have said it if it was.  So, she’d asked him what a shell was.  He’d responded that it was an offering to the Almighty made by the ocean.  She’d been about to ask him what the “ocean” was when Su rounded the corner, rage on his face and madness in his eyes.  He backhanded the young man so hard his neck snapped back and caused his skull to connect with the hard metal brace of the gate entrance.  He’d slumped to the ground in a barely conscious heap.  Su had rushed in and started beating her.  He pulled off her Concealer to aim better and to make sure the blows landed.  He’d pulled off his vest and whipped her with it until the strings broke and the beads scattered in a rain of soft snicking sounds.  All the while he roared at her for her indecency and sluttish womanly ways.  She’d been left on the ground, but someone must have fed her and given her water for she did not die though her whole face felt broken and swollen and her body kept twitching as if remembering the beating even days later.

She’d come to find out that she’d been allowed to live so that she might witness her real punishment.  She’d been covered in a Concealer and brought to a large open courtyard in which hundreds of men had ringed two stretchers, those like were used for drying the hides of outside animals.  She had been pushed to the front of the pack and forced to her knees.  There she’d been able to see that two naked men had been strung up on the stretchers at a slight angle to the ground so that they were visible to the observers.  The young man who had broken the covenant of speaking to women when it was not absolutely necessary was forced to his knees a respectable distance from her.  The assembly had been informed by the familiar elder voice, now clearly visible as a man barely old enough to be considered an elder, that the two men had committed some terrible sin.  Sen hadn’t quite understood what the charge was, except that it involved lust and inappropriate touching.  She hadn’t been sure if the men had touched each other or only themselves, or to what part the elder kept referring, though she assumed it was the strange bit of dangling flesh between their legs.  Is that what made a man?  That their pudenda were ill-shapen and stretched out?  She had no answer and was certainly not going to be given one if she asked which she dared not do.  The sentence for these men was the thousand cut death.  Starting with the soles of their feet, two men, one for each sinner, starting slicing short, shallow cuts into their skin.  The cuts were barely deep enough to draw blood, but as the men worked their way up the bodies, their tan flesh soon turned more red than brown.  Halfway up one of the men’s chest, his face suddenly went ashen and he passed out.  The other man stayed conscious until they had finished working over his shaved head and started down the back of his neck.  Then he too, went limp.  The cutters angled the stretchers so that they could cover the back of the men in tiny little scores.  The first man, the one who had succumbed first, suddenly lost his bowels when the cutter was to the small of his back.  The assembly had let out a cheer so loud that Sen had started violently, being so wrapped up in the torture and the silence.  The other man did not lose his bowels even when they finished, so the crowd demanded he be gutted to fulfill his holy punishment.  Only then did Sen realize that with the loosening of his bowls and the cheer of the crowd, the first man had died.  The elder declared the second man would stay that way until he either died or all his cuts were healed, signaling a pardon from the Almighty.  The crowd had dispersed, but Sen and the man were forced to stay on their knees, watched by a changing guard for three days with no food and no water.  Sen had found a small stone on the ground and had rubbed it on the hard flagstones of the courtyard until it had a bit of a point.  Then she’d tried to cut her arms and legs under the Concealer in order to feel some of the Almighty’s wrath upon her flesh.  She managed to make dozens of scores along her forearms and thighs before the stone slipped from her hand, weakened as she was by lack of water and food.  On the third day she’d been returned to her cell with a warning not to give in to the devil’s temptations again.  She’d been left, alone, in her cell for the rest of the dry season and the duration of the rainy season.  The only proof she had that other people still existed were the occasional distance sounds of voices and the food and water that was delivered through a small gap in the cell gate twice a day.

She never found out if the second cut man had lived or died.  Nor did she know what had happened to the young man with the shell.  All she knew was that the Almighty must have forgiven her since most of her self-inflicted cuts had healed completely, with only a few leaving behind thin, white scars that faded with each passing season.  Forgiven, but still unworthy.  She raised a hand to finger her amulet.  The chipmunk, cheeks puffed out full of seeds, caught the movement and bolted for the cracked portion of wall in the corner that provided footholds for its entries and exits from her cell.  What would it be like to be a small animal, one of the Almighty’s creatures, blessed with dumbness and therefore knowing no evil?  To be able to climb the wall and go where it pleased.

“Sen!”

Sen started and then shrank against the wall as Su barked her name.

“We’re coming in!  Conceal yourself!”

Sen always kept the Concealer close by her.  Ever since the time in her first year of seclusion when she hadn’t gotten it on fast enough and Su had entered with her legs still exposed, even though she still wore her grey dress.  Thankfully he’d been by himself, so she hadn’t condemned any other men with her impropriety.  He’d yelled at her.  And hit her.  And told her that if she wanted to continue her training and perform her Mission she had to be pure and pious looked upon only by the Almighty until it was time to go to the Belt.  As a punishment, he’d forced her to her hands and knees and pushed the Concealer and her dress up to her waist.  Then he’d forced a hard object into her.  She wasn’t sure if he’d cut her to make the opening or if it had always been there, but he filled it until she was crying from the raw pain.  But she’d been glad of it.  Pain was how the Almighty showed His love for His people, by helping them forget their sins and focus on the miracle of His divine weapon that saved them from becoming content with the easy life their flesh endured every day.

After that day, in addition to coming for her training and lessons, Su had come to her cell every now and again to give her the same punishment.  Always on hands and knees with her head down so that she couldn’t see the holy tool he used to inflict the pain on her.  Once, without meaning to, she’d turned her head as the agony wore on longer than usual.  He’d cuffed her so hard he’d split her lip.  He called her a word she didn’t know.  Other than that one time, he never spoke while he punished her; he only grunted and groaned and then heaved out a great noise when he’d finished with his beating.  Sen looked forward to these punishments because they helped her assuage her guilt for being unworthy.  For knowing she was unworthy and not doing anything to stop them from believing otherwise.

And that wasn’t the only way he saved her.  Once, a few years back, when her holy burden had vanished, and not appeared to her for some months, she had, weeping in fear, confided in Su.  He had been surprisingly kind and calmed her down.  He had told her that she had been inflicted by a trick of the devil and the Almighty was punishing her for her impiety by taking away the mark of blood that heralded their reminder of the evil of bodily sins.  He’d left her then and told her to pray all day and all night and he would return the next day and help her.  When he came, early in the morning, before the grey light of dawn could sweep out the dark inside the city walls, he brought with him an iron bar.  He’d ordered her to lift her Concealer and dress to her naval, and then he’d begun to beat her abdomen with the pole.  After two vicious hits, she had choked on her own breath the pain was so great and fell to the ground.  He had pushed her to her back and continued to beat at her abdomen with the bar until, at last, she screamed out with wrenching pain as her abdomen cramped.  She’d curled into a ball, unable to withstand any more though surely now Su would see her unworthiness since she had turned away from the Almighty’s cleansing pain.  Then, as if a miracle, her holy burden came back to her, blood and tissue spilling from her legs in much greater quantity than usual.  She’d been unable to appreciate it at the time as she’d barely been able to breathe, with her vision filling with spots and going blurry around the edges.  Su had left her there all day and all that night.  The next morning he’d returned with a pail of water and allowed herself to clean the blood from her body.  Her abdomen was a mass of purple and black bruises, and touching them brought such sharp, sweet pain that she knew she’d been purified of the devil’s influence.  Su had determined this meant she needed more regular punishment.  He’d let her mostly heal before the punishment started again, only this time he pushed the hard object into a different opening.  This one she was a little more familiar with as she used it to relieve herself of the impurities the devil hid in their food.  Now Su visited her every few days to deliver this holy pain upon her.  She was grateful to him for taking such good care of her soul; she wondered why she flinched every time she heard his voice.

Sen had the Concealer on and covering every part her body before the gate was even unlocked.  She got to her feet and waited to see if it was Su coming for instruction or for penitence.  She was surprised when Su was accompanied by two men she didn’t know.  They stood at the gate and would not come inside.  Su crossed to her and folded his arms over his very hairy chest as he looked sourly at her.

“Show them,” he commanded.

  Sen lifted her hands together under the Concealer and touched the amulet tied to her right wrist with her left hand.  She drew in air first, setting it to swirl in her hand.  Then she called on light to give it heat.  The stone she drew up through her feet to give the air weight and force.  She didn’t even need to chant anymore to work the elements, all she had to do was speak their name aloud once, and listen to them as they served her for as long as it suited their purposes.  She only needed to chant to bind them when they didn’t want to stay where she wanted them.  She forced the air to spin faster, feeling it struggle against the constraint of the stone.  She held the pulsing ball in one hand and turned her back on the men, squatting down and then carefully, so carefully, reaching her hand down so that she could expend the force on the wall out from underneath the Concealer without exposing her hand.

“Make it bigger this time,” Su commanded.

Sen froze, not sure what he really wanted.  She stayed squatting and pulled her hand back in, widening the curve of the strength of the stone and then forcing in even more air.  She felt the bauble tensing and bouncing in her hand, but even in her left hand, without the amulet, it was easily under her control.  She moved her hand to the hem of the garment, and sent the bubble of pressure—the force surge as Su called it—toward the corner of the wall that was already cracked and chipped with her earlier demonstrations.  There was a loud cracking sound and Sen squeaked as something forced her back onto her rump.  She gathered the Concealer around her feet to make sure she remained covered.  There were some more sounds, like the time she’d seen rocks fall off the back of a stone mason’s cart.  She blinked her eyes behind the gauzy cover of the slit in the Concealer.  There in front of her, where a wall had stood, was crumbled stone and a vision from the Almighty: green earth, scrubby bushes, and the sun, not yellow, but large and orange and sinking into His mighty embrace.  There was silence except for the occasional pebble sized piece of wall that fell and skittered down the pile.

“I think you’re right,” said one of the strangers.  “I think she’s ready.”

 

“Ready” had meant that she was shuffled almost immediately into a cart and been taken on a long, jarring ride out of the city and over more of that green ground she had seen through the Almighty’s vision.  She got a splinter in the sole of her foot and almost peed herself it took so long to get to their destination.  She was somewhat distracted from this plight by a soft roaring sound that steadily gotten louder as they traveled.  At last they stopped and she was pulled from the cart to stand on something that did not feel like the familiar chill of stone.  The men who had hauled her in the cart turned around immediately and left, but Su remained.  Sen could recognize him even with the Concealer sitting askew and blocking half her vision.  He took her roughly by the arm and led her down a strange feeling piece of ground.  It was crumbly and punctuated with sticks and rocks that jabbed at her bare feet.  She could bear the discomfort to her soles, but she almost told him that she needed desperately to relieve herself.  Then her feet hit water.  He yanked the Concealer off her head and pulled the length off her body.  She blinked, disoriented.  It was dark and all she could see was the faint light of lanterns burning to her right.  They appeared to be bobbing in the air.  The roar she had heard from the cart was all around her and the water had disappeared from her feet.  Then she felt it rush back, covering her ankles in a cold, but bearable, wash.

Su was pulling the grey dress off her body.  She fought against him at first.  She could not be naked in front of a man.  No matter what other sacred laws she had broken, this she could do not do.  Even when Su gave her her punishment, only her backside was exposed.  He slapped her hard, making her head reel.  It was all she could do to stay on her feet, so he got the dress over her head and tossed it away.  She shook her head to clear her vision and looked up to where she believed his face to be.

She’d been so disappointed the first time men had uncovered themselves in front of her.  They had not been foreign or exotic at all.  Just uglier, hairier versions of women really.  Su was no exception.  He had a round face that was almost overwhelmed by his large nose and lips.  His eyes by contrast were small and beady and close together by the bridge of his nose.  Tawny hair covered his cheeks and above his lip and his chin and all down his neck.  The hair covered most of his body from what she’d seen through his beaded vest and where his legs appeared from the bottom of his skirt.  She knew all this from memory.  As her eyes adjusted somewhat to the dark, all she could make out of him was his large form, and one muscled arm was just visible in the bobbing lantern light.  She realized she must have grown since she first met him.  Her head hadn’t reached the top of his shoulder, and now she could have seen over it quite easily if there was any light to see by.  His one arm that she could see lifted to her face and stroked soft fingers down her cheek.

“It’s a shame to be sending you away,” he murmured, “but the elders are anxious.  Got to get you assimilated and all that.  Though who knows when that man will choose an heir.”

She’d heard all these words before, but she still was unclear what they had to do with her or her Mission.  She was told she would be informed when the time was right.

“But, before you go, might as well reap one last reward for sheltering you and caring for you all these years.”

She gasped as his hands grabbed her breasts, she wasn’t sure what he was doing at first, but then he squeezed them so viciously pain blossomed and spread from her chest to her stomach.  Ah, he was giving her one last punishment to remind her of her wickedness and that suffering was just a way to give penitence to the Almighty.  His forceful kneading distracted her from the fact that she still had to pee, and she completely forgot it when he added his teeth to her punishment.  Then he spun her around and forced her to her hands and knees in the water.  There he used the hard object again, though she hadn’t seen one in his hands earlier.  She wondered what it was.  He was especially brutal, this, their last time to worship the Almighty’s cleansing pain together.  But the pressure he inflicted caused her to lose control of her bladder.  He grunted in that loud, hoarse way he did when he was satisfied with her punishments, and then said several words she didn’t know as he pulled away from her upon realizing she’d wet herself.  He kicked her in the ribs.

“You dirty—”  She didn’t recognize the third word.  “Rinse yourself off and then get up.  They’re waiting.”

Sen splashed some of the cold water between her legs, but she was careful not to rinse the rest of the dirt off her body.  That was another way to be humble for Him; cleanliness was godliness, and since no one was like the Almighty, it was best to grovel in filth.  She started to stand up when Su shoved her down.  She winced as he pushed her into the water, her skin scraping over the strange ground.  He rubbed her in a few places to dislodge some of the grime.  Then the water crashed over her head.  She sat up spluttering and choking on the shocking saltiness of the water.  Then he pulled her head scarf off before plunging her back in the water.  The water had receded again though, so her face smashed against the grainy ground.  The water came back, covering her face.  She couldn’t breathe, but Su didn’t let her up as he roughly combed his fingers through her hair as much as the knots would allow him.  Finally, he yanked her to her feet and dragged her by the wrist toward the floating lights, over the ground that had turned crumbling again, the rocks forcing her to stumble in his wake.  She felt her hair plaster itself from neck to mid-thigh.  She hadn’t known it had gotten so long—she hadn’t washed it or even taken it out of the head scarf in years.

As they got closer to the lights, Sen could see they were tied to the sides of a large, wooden cart.  Only, the cart had no wheels and seemed to be resting on the water.  That’s why the lights were bobbing—the cart was listing with the water.  This cart also had two wooden posts sticking straight up from the center; lanterns hung from these as well, casting a yellowy light over the cart and the people standing on it.  Su hauled her forward and pushed her up a wooden ramp in front him until she too stood on the unsteady cart.  She had trouble keeping her feet not only because of the unsteady ground, but because she had trouble balancing with her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she shivered in the cool night air.  She was mortified.  She was naked under the sight of the Almighty and all these strangers.  There appeared to be one woman and four men other than Su.

“Well, here she is,” said Su.

The woman stepped forward.  She was large and wore a strange outfit that covered arms and legs, but were made of two separate pieces of cloth and individually covered each leg.  All the people on the cart wore outfits like this, except one man who leaned against the side of the cart in the shadows whose looked like it was made from leather instead of cloth.  The woman had dark colored hair cut short.  Men and women were not supposed to cut their hair.  She looked wild and dangerous, especially when she grinned, revealing a set of large teeth with one missing on the upper left side.  Sen shrank away from her.  This was not an Almighty-fearing woman.

“This is the one, huh?” the woman spoke, her voice was strong and loud.  Too loud.  She sounded like she was shouting to Sen’s ears.  “A little scrawny.  Did you people even feed her?”

“She was fed enough,” said Su.

The woman laughed and Sen took a step back, but Su forced her still with a hand on her shoulder.

“Yes, just enough I can see.”

“Sen,” Su said, “this is Gemma Seacrosser.  She’s going to take you to the Belt and teach you everything you need to know to be assimilated so you can do your Mission.”

Sen stared in horror at the woman.  This monster was going to teach her and help her carry out the holy work of the Almighty?  It didn’t seem possible.

“They’ve told me you’re a complete blank slate,” Gemma said, still grinning.  “Though perhaps it’s not as bad as I thought.  You seem to have some knowledge of the world.”

Here she reached out a hand and brushed over the teeth marks on her left breast.  Sen turned away from the woman’s touch.

“I am well taught in the ways of penitence and the cleansing pain we need in order to serve the Almighty better.  But, I will not be so arrogant as to say I would need no further instruction.”

The woman’s smile faltered and her eyebrows shot up.  She glanced over Sen’s shoulder at Su, and then looked back at Sen with another one of those fearsome grins.

“Well, it appears it’s worse than I thought.  I’m afraid the world might be a bit of shock for you, girly.”

“It may be, but I’m prepared to handle it.  I can face anything if I do so to serve the Almighty.”

The woman put her hands on her waist and looked Sen over.  “Right…”  Then she turned to one of the men.  “Be a dear and get the lamb some clothing, would you?”

The man grunted, but turned to rummage in one of the trunks that lined the inside of the cart.  Su handed Gemma a small brown sack that jingled as it moved.  She opened the sack and stuck a finger inside to sort through its contents.  Then she pulled out a flat object and bit it with her teeth.  Seeming satisfied, she dropped the object back in the bag and handed it off to a second man.  The first man had returned with a blanket and bundle under one arm.  He tossed her the blanket.

“Dry off first,” he said gruffly.

Sen rubbed the coarse wool blanket over her skin halfheartedly.  She’d been speaking bravely, but she was scared and didn’t want to be here.  She should admit to Su she wasn’t worthy of the Mission and beg him to take her back to the men’s quarters.  But, if she did that, she would live in perpetual sin unable to absolve herself.  Martyrdom was the only way to save her soul now.  She had to have faith.  The Almighty would give her the strength and courage to see this through.  She just had to believe.

“So,” Gemma said, looking Sen over again.  “You just want me to drop her off anywhere on the Belt?”

“The agreement is that you sail from here to there and ask no questions of why she is going.  Just teach her what you must of women of the Belt, and leave her on a shore some ways away from any towns or ports.  That one will take over from there.”

Sen jutted his chin toward the man in leather.  He hadn’t moved from his position at the side of the cart, his arms crossed over his chest.  He was taller than Su and more slender.  Unlike Su, and the other three men she saw, there was no hair on his face.  The hair on his head was cut very short.  She supposed that was why she didn’t recognize him at first.  But now the cart tilted, causing one of the lanterns to spill its light across his eyes, which were opaque pools of warm brown.  It was the man who owned the shell.  As Sen looked at him, and saw that he was looking at her, her face grew warm.  It was the same sensation that happened when elder woman Li had castigated her in front of the women’s circle for her abundant sins.  But this time, the familiar sense of humiliation and shame did not accompany the heat.  She wasn’t exactly sure what the feeling was, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

“All right then,” said Gemma.  “I get paid, I do a job no matter how bizarre.”  Then she turned to yell at the men.  “Pull the lines!  Ready the oars!”

Three of the men immediately burst into action.  The one who had brought her the blanket thrust the bundle into her arms and ran to follow the woman’s instructions.  Sen was still partly wet as she now held blanket and bundle, not knowing what to do or where to go.  Su had stepped back onto the wooden ramp and was returning to solid ground.  He turned to catch her eye before he reached the bottom.

“Remember your lessons and your Mission, Sen.  And do not fail.  Your soul depends on it.”

Sen nodded her head once as she watched with a rising sense of despair as Su reached the ground and started walking away into the dark of the night.  The only person who had ever tried to redeem her and purify her iniquitous soul was leaving her.  She would be all alone with these godless people with only the knowledge of her purpose to comfort her.

But as she watched Su disappear into shadows, and the cart pulled away from land, she felt a puzzling sense of relief.


	7. Decision

Part 2: Departures 

United Calendar 1022-1026

O-nam

Fire ran the firm-bristled brush over Moon Treader’s hind quarters.  The horse bobbed his head, pleased with the sensation.  He also hadn’t seemed to mind the new, supple leather saddle Fire had been given as one of his Passage presents on his twenty-fifth birthday, three days before.  He would have tried it out the day he got it, but there had been too many important visitors in court and he was expected, as a legal adult now, to perform his share of the entertaining duties.  He’d been assigned two men from the Draeden region who had a habit of speaking so quickly and with so much of their people’s slang that he had mostly just smiled and nodded at them.  He was pretty sure after a while they realized he had no clue what they were talking about and began talking about him.  But he didn’t care.  Words had little power over him.

He ran the brush over the horse’s silvery flanks a few more times and then stowed the brush with the rest of his tack.  He walked to entrance of the stall and retrieved the treasure he’d hidden behind the door.  He turned back and offered Moon Treader the overly ripe apple in his hand.  The stallion grunted his pleasure and lipped the apple into his mouth, crunching down soundly on it.  Fire stroked his neck and rubbed his forehead.

“There’s my good boy,” Fire said in a baby voice.  “Who’s my good boy?”

Moon Treader whickered and raised his head to bump his soft muzzle against Fire’ face.  Fire gave him some kisses and said, “That’s right!  You’re my good boy.”  He let the horse nuzzle against his face and chuckled as his horsey whiskers tickled his skin.

“You know, I wonder about you and that horse.”

Fire smiled at the melodic voice that spoke from behind him.  He turned partially to share that smile with Shyla.  The young man was leaning against the entrance to the stall, not much taller than the large door.  He was very thin and very delicate and looked like he could be picked up and snapped in half over someone’s knee.  But his green eyes betrayed that his strength lay in his intelligence.  And those eyes were hard to miss in someone so completely colorless.  Shyla was even more fair-skinned than he was with stark white-blonde hair that he wore in a complicated, architectural twist held in place by three carved ivory sticks.  This pattern in his hair signified that it was midday; he would change it before dinner.  He wore the traditional garb of his people: a form fitting robe with a high collar and slits at the legs to allow for movement.  Underneath he wore a pair of slightly baggy pants that tied off at his ankles.  The robe was embroidered with intricate and delicate needlework depicting a fine-haired brush painting a path in a graceful swirl.  The thread had a shine to it; otherwise it would be impossible to see as it was white on white.  The all white ensemble did nothing to help his complexion but made Shyla seem as if he’d been sculpted from snow.  Fire was never really sure if Shyla was as attractive as he appeared, or if his exotic features only made a plain face seem prettier.  If it was an illusion, it worked on the women of Shrija quite handedly.  All except one: the only one Shyla wanted it to work on.  But wasn’t that usually the way of the world?

Fire greeted his friend with an insult, which was promptly returned.  He turned back to Moon Treader and gave him one more kiss on his horsey nose before leaving the stall and shutting and locking the door.  Shyla had moved back as the horse tried to follow his master.  No one but Fire could stand within a meter of him without risking a bite or a kick.  He stuck his head over the door and looked crossly at Fire.  Fire combed his forelock with his fingers and almost got nipped for his kindness.  The horse did not like being left alone in the stables.

“Well, he’s in a mood today,” Fire sighed.

“Today?  Isn’t he like this every day?”

“Yeah, pretty much.  What brings you to the dirty, dusty stables, my hygienic friend?”

Shyla didn’t take the comment as insult.  He was clean and liked being clean.

“I’ve been sent on a king’s errand to find you, my dear.”

They started to leave the stables and Shyla took his hand, twining their fingers together, and leaning against his arm.  Fire had been concerned that his friend was in love with him the first several months he and Shyla had been acquaintances.  They’d been about twenty when Shyla arrived from Creevat’taugh as part of the mentorship Fire’s father had promised Shyla’s father when they were both very young men.  Shyla’s father had been one of the companions collected on his father’s journey to become heir of O-nam.  Their friendship was one reason Creevat’taugh had grown and flourished over the last several decades: it had the king’s favor and therefore the full backing of O-nam—a coveted position all the nations of the Belt wanted.  Also part of the deal, King Siltin had agreed to sponsor one of his friend’s children for several years while he studied foreign architecture and art.  Fire had heard that Maubern was actually better for those kinds of studies, but Shyla’s father had wisely asked not just for protection for the boy during his studies, but to have him sent to the royal keep where he could, and did, make friends with the royal children thus ensuring further good relations between Creevat’taugh and O-nam.  Being of an age, Shyla and Fire had bonded first and strongest.  And while that bond had resulted in a friend whose company Fire genuinely enjoyed and even trusted, that also included a good bit of physical intimacy.  More so than Fire would ever share with any of his other male friends.  Or female friends for that matter.  He’d consulted his father on how to tell Shyla gently, but firmly, that he just wanted to be friends, and then his father had roared with laughter and informed him that the Creevat’taughs were just a very affectionate and “touchy” people.  Fire had been a little uncomfortable with the contact at first, despite being from a society pretty open and easy about sex, but touching was something that was done behind closed doors.  Eventually though, Fire had stopped resisting Shyla’s attempts to be affectionate because quite frankly he did it without conscious thought and it proved a very difficult habit to break.  And now, after five years of it, Fire was used to it.  Wouldn’t admit it, but kind of liked it.

“My father sent you?” Fire asked.  “Do you know why?”

Shyla shrugged against him, almost sending them off course he was leaning on him so much.

“He just asked that I find you and bring you to the main hall.  It was pretty empty when I saw him, so maybe he just wants to talk to you and won’t force anymore of those bores on you.  I’ve been lonely, you know!”

“Forgive me for not being available to entertain you sun and moon.”

“I do.  It’s your father’s fault, not yours.”

Shyla didn’t have a very well developed sense of sarcasm.  They cut through the stables rather than walking around them since they actually had somewhere to be.  As they strolled past the hay and grain storerooms, they were assaulted with the familiar though still somewhat embarrassing sounds of two people enjoying a carnal afternoon together.  There was another grunt.  Ah.  Three people.

“Oh, your highness…” a voice sighed, gender indeterminate.

Fire and Shyla stopped walking.  They glanced at each other.  Then Shyla disentangled himself from Fire and bounded over to the store room door from which the sounds were emanating, pressing his face against the wood to peek through the crack.  Fire held back and softly hissed his name.

“Come over here.  You’re worse than a child,” he whispered.

“But your father said to tell any other children I passed along the way to come to the hall as well.”

“Well, let’s just pretend that we never saw…who is it?”

“Who do you think?” Shyla grinned, not turning away from his view.

“Leaf,” Fire muttered.

“Yup.  He’s the toothpick holding the sandwich together.”

Fire blushed.  He did not need to imagine his brother as the top layer of a threesome.

“Shyla, let’s go.”

“Hang on…I think that’s—”  Shyla gasped and turned to look at Fire with a pleasantly shocked face.  “That’s Grecia!”

“What?!”  Fire clapped a hand over his mouth after his outburst, but the sounds from inside the store room didn’t even falter in rhythm.  He ran forward and pushed Shyla out of the way, placing his face against the doorjamb and peering inside.  He easily recognized his brother as he moved against the man who was in turn moving against a woman.  The man was Leaffall’s servant, Daymous.  Daymous had been with Leaffall since he was a young child, being first his companion since they were only two years apart in age, and then taken on the role as servant when he was old enough to perform those duties.  Among others.  The woman…Fire turned his head to see if she was indeed his older brother Ice’s wife.  He sat back and glared at Shyla.

“She looks nothing like Grecia.”

“She doesn’t?  It must have been the hay.  I thought it was her hair.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“For the love of our ancestors,” Leaffall groaned from inside the storeroom, “either shut-up or join in.”

Fire fell back in shock, blushing so furiously he actually felt dizzy.  Shyla just laughed.

“Sorry, but yours is not the royal body I’m interested in,” Shyla called out.  “And are you sure you really want your _brother_ to be a part of your debauchery?”

There was pause, though not in the sounds of their activities.  Then Leaffall asked, “Which one?”

“The cute one!”

“He can join in!” the mystery woman called.

There was laughter and Fire buried his face in his hands.

“I don’t see how that clears it up,” a deep voice said from behind Shyla and Fire.  They whipped their heads around and then had to crane their necks to look up to see Ice’s face.  In looks he quite resembled his mother, Queen Consort River, with a shock of bright yellow hair and clear brown eyes, but he got his height from King Siltin. He pushed open the storeroom door and the occupants finally sat up and scrambled for clothes.  “We’re all cute, are we not?” Ice said, not looking particularly cute but regally unimpressed with the display before him.

“O-of c-course, your highness,” the woman stammered.

Leaffall sat on a bale of hay, his jacket draped decently over his lap.  “Is there a particular reason why my brothers are spying on me?”

“I wasn’t!” Fire started, but stopped since Ice was talking.

“I was just passing through and saw these two mice scratching around the door.  Then I heard a familiar pig grunting inside.”  Leaffall narrowed his eyes at his brother.  “I figured I should inform you both that we’ve been summoned by our father to the main hall.”

“Summoned or requested?” Leaffall asked, judging how much time he had.

“Summoned.”

Leaffall grunted.  “Guess that means we’re done.”

Daymous had already discreetly dressed himself and was brushing off the stray hay and dust from his master’s pants.  Shyla and Fire finally got off the ground and allowed Ice to lead them away while their brother and his servant attempted to get him looking decent enough to meet their father in the main hall.  Ice walked with a hand at the back of the neck of both of his charges.  Fire wondered how long it would take for him to remember that he was twenty-five and a man now.  Then again, he had been caught peeping on people like a snooping adolescent.

They exited the musty stables, leaving behind the comforting scent of horses and well oiled leather.  They entered the large pasture that had been protected from Shrija’s sprawl and spanned the distance between the stables and the royal keep.  Here the grass was a bright green that wavered to a kind of blue as the wind stirred.  Several horses dotted the field, along with a couple of errant goats that had somehow found their way inside.

Fire enjoyed this stretch of grass for its openness and natural smell.  It was the only place in Shrija that was somewhat immune from the scent of a densely populated municipality.  Shrija was quite clean for a city, especially for one so closely packed together, but still the haze of city life hung about the streets: the boiling vats of dye, smoked meats, sawdust, wet leather, smelted metals of the merchants’ trade; blood and innards of animals slaughtered within the inner streets despite being prohibited by royal decree; pungent concoctions of herbs and minerals made by medicinaries; manure of herded animals.  Plus the faint though always present scent of human sweat and toil.

Shrija actually had a fresher smell to it now than it did when Fire’s father had been a child.  During his journey, he’d spent several months in Creevat’taugh, impressed with their architecture and ability to build large, complex structures.  One invention of theirs that had particularly impressed him was the aqueducts.  After becoming king, he’d commissioned over a hundred Creevat’taughs to come to Shrija and install two kinds: a raised aqueduct made of scoured marble (which had cost a small fortune) distributed potable water throughout the city, while another made of common granite carried away waste from the latrines to the Minor Serpent, downstream from where the residents laundered clothes.  As a result the city not only smelled better, but disease and morbidity had swiftly declined.  Siltin had intended to have aqueducts in all his cities, but in the thirty years of his reign, he’d only been successful in installing them in four other major cities.  The smaller towns and villages, while not resistant to change were prudent in how their funds were spent.  And new farming equipment, livestock, and building materials for houses, stables, and silos were far more valuable in their eyes.

The trio climbed the chest high split wood fence that enclosed the pasture, startling the guard that had been snoozing some meters away.  He instantly recognized two of the royal children and stood at attention.  He kept his mouth shut regarding their blatant disregard of the gate by his post, though even the royal family members were not supposed to jump the fence and tramp around on the grass instead of on the path.  Shyla linked arms with Fire as they skirted the marketplace, which would be ridiculously crowded at this time of day, and followed the outer track of slate walkways that encircled the city center.  Once they were clear of most of the main thoroughfares that led to the marketplace, they took a spoke pathway to the heart of the city where the royal keep loomed over all the other buildings.

Built thousands of years ago on a small hill near a river, the original stone fortress was a marvel of ancient engineering being made from dolerite stones transported from the rocky hills of the east bank of the Serpent some three hundred kilometers away.  Each individual stone was massive in length, width, and height, and all hewn to interlock with such precision a single sheet of paper could not be slid between them.  In this inner stronghold were the royal family’s personal quarters.  In the subsequent additions, the main reception hall, dining hall, entertaining halls, store rooms, kitchens, and infirmary spiraled out from the center.  There was little concern of danger from spreading fire from the kitchens as this second layer, while not as impressive as the inner keep, was made from substantial granite stones that did not lend themselves to burning.  From there the third ring was not rectangular in shape, but free flowing structures made from stone, wood, and stucco that provided space for weapons training, weaving, pottery, academic studies, and play as well as open-air courtyard space.  The latest addition, made some three hundred years ago, was the great indoor gardens cleverly made with a glass dome of Creevat’taugh design to allow for sunlight.  The keep’s expansion had been hampered only by the barrier of the buildings of Shrija itself.

Fire could usually make the climb up the gently sloping hill with no effort, but Shyla was dragging on his arm quite heavily.  The outer walls of the keep were not separated from the city by fences or barriers, but there were few entrances to be found and all were manned by the Blooddrinkers, the elite unit of guards that were a part of the larger O-nam standing army.  They weren’t called Blooddrinkers because they were particularly vicious or bloodthirsty warriors, though some probably were, but because of the ancient tradition that required them to swear a blood oath to the current sovereign and his family.  Instead of offering their blood to the king, the king put his own blood in water for his personal guard to drink, thus ensuring if he died, then so would all who had taken his blood and therefore his essence into themselves.  It was meant to defend against desertion and treason.  Or so the legend went.

One of those guards was standing alert and sharp-eyed by the small, almost unnoticeable entrance to the Orchard Courtyard on the north side of the keep.  He opened the door for Ice and Fire to pass through and kept wary, narrowed eyes on Shyla even though this particular guard had known who he was and what his relationship was to the royal family for two years now.  Fire wondered if his overly serious nature was why he had been assigned to guard a mostly unknown about back door.

The courtyard they passed through was a large, many-sided shape with walls of irregular lengths creating a space that was haphazard and provided many unintentional private alcoves where one could easily hide from irritated tutors or woo shy sweethearts.  Or perhaps that had been the builder’s intention.  It was called Orchard Courtyard, but it was more of a berry field with poorly pruned brambles spilling over benches and pathways.  Being late spring, the courtyard was filled with the delicious colors and smells of ripe blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, and boysenberries.  The trees scattered at random hung heavily with clusters of dark red cherries.  Shyla hated the disorganized nature of this particular courtyard (there were others that definitely had the mark of a Creevat’taugh hand on them), but Fire noticed he didn’t mind the sweet fruits it produced.  He would have stopped to mug the raspberry bramble, but Fire was able to haul him along since their arms were twisted together.

They were plunged into a brief darkness as they entered the granite section of the keep, passing through a hall lit only by low burning torches.  Then they took an outdoor passageway that circumvented the imposing inner keep and reentered the granite in a hall better lit with lanterns.  They made their way to the double doors of cypress that had been painted a deep red and stood at least twice a man’s height.  There they found four more Blooddrinkers who politely, but in a tone that brooked no argument, informed them that they needed to wait outside the great hall until they were called for.  Snow was already waiting with Air, Rain, and Brooke, each in charge of one of their younger siblings by Azurite.  Their brother Sardonyx was absent as he had been sent south with a retinue to the horse lands where he was receiving riding lessons until he was skilled enough to ride his new mount home by himself.  Fire was a little irked that his younger siblings had been allowed to go pick out their horses at such a young age.  Up through Winter and Frost the children had been required to wait until they had been at least twelve years old.  Younger siblings always had it better.  The only ones missing were Winter and Leaffall.  Their sweet, though slow-witted brother, Frost, was probably in the gardens, being watched by attendants while he hummed to himself in a language that no one but he understood.

Olivine, their youngest sister who wasn’t quite eight years old yet, pulled away from Brooke’s hand and dashed to Fire’s side.  He picked the little girl up and settled her on his hip, laughing as she gave him a wet kiss beside his ear.  She swung her legs and kicked Shyla in the arm.  He shot the girl a growling look and turned his fingers into claws, which he then raised menacingly at her.  She just giggled wildly and tried to bury herself into Fire.  She was a pretty child and rather accurately represented her namesake.  She had a fine olive skin tone blended from their father’s light, but robust complexion and her mother’s golden brown skin.  Her hair was dark, dark brown and her eyes a dark green.  Azurite had deliberately delayed naming her children unlike Queen Consort River had done before her.  She said that if she had to follow the strange O-nam matriarchal naming convention, then the least she could do was make the name match the child.  Roselite and Sardonyx were gingers with very dark orangey-red coloring as their mother’s dark features were hard to water down.  Barite was brown from head to toe, but had those gorgeous doe eyes like her older sisters on Azurite’s side.  He didn’t think Celestite really had a blue hue to her, but her eyes were a dark blue with pupils ringed with brown.  Queen River’s children by comparison did not match their namesakes but by generalities only.  Ice and Frost had their father’s ruddy complexion and their mother’s bright hair.  They looked more like summer to Fire.  Leaffall took after their mother with fair skin and strawberry blond hair, embodying more of a springtime look.  Rain and Air took heavily after their father being big boned and dark of hair, not delicate at all.  Their eyes were a hazel blended from brown and dark blue that reminded one of the earth.  Snow and Brooke had golden blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and skin that remained a cinnamon brown year round.  Only Winter had the colorless cold that one might associate with her name.  She had pale blonde hair, clear grey eyes, and skin as fair and white as Fire—in the winter.  In the summer she was outdoors riding and playing so much that she boiled to a bright lobster red before peeling disgustingly and baking to a medium tan.

Shouts rang out from the hall to the left of the antechamber the royal children were gathered in.  The guards started abruptly, hands going to their short swords as they made ready to move into a position of defense.  However, upon seeing the others barely reacting to the noise, they realized what the royal family had already noticed.  The ruckus was caused by Leaffall and Winter shouting at each other as they walked through the keep.  Whether it was an actual fight or just their inclination to speak loudly, especially around each other, was not yet evident.  Shyla moved to hide himself behind Fire as the two unruly royals entered the antechamber.  It hadn’t taken long for Fire to figure out that while Creevat’taughs pretty much touched everyone they encountered, they were incredibly shy about touching people they were romantically interested in.  And Shyla was desperately in love with Winter, which was a mystery Fire had never been able to puzzle out.

Winter entered with a jarring cackle, accompanied by Leaffall’s braying laughter.  Daymous walked a few steps behind, flushed a red so profound he rivaled Roselite’s hair.  Snow shot them a look that held the weight of being an irritated older sister for thirty years.  They clamped their mouths shut, but then glanced at each other and giggled.  Winter spotted Fire and left Leaffall to soothe his servant’s embarrassment.  She marched up to Fire, tickled Olivine under her chin with a finger, and then planted her fists on her hips.  She wore very short leather shorts and nothing but a leather vest on top, which she could get away with since she was so flat of chest.  Her hair was braided in a thin rope that fell to the small of her back.  She smelled like grass, horses, and that mild funk that came from sweating in the sun.  He felt Shyla hide his face behind his arm.  What did he see in his crazy sister?  She wasn't ugly, but pretty was a stretch at times.  And there was that personality to contend with.

“Fire.”  Winter stated his name and grinned.

“What?” he asked warily.

“Did you go on a private picnic with Hoyola Cottonfield?”

Fire had long ago gotten used to his sister’s mischievous troublemaking and love of scandal, so he could look at her without coloring or giving himself away.  It also helped that he hadn’t the slightest idea of who Hoyola Cottonfield was.

“No,” he said flatly with a blank face.

She frowned.  “Well, why not?!  I am an excellent matchmaker and I’m positive you two would have at least had good sex if not a good relationship.”

Fire dropped Olivine to her feet and gave her a light slap on the rear to send her back to Brooke.

“She’s old enough now to understand what you say,” Fire admonished his twenty-one year old sister.  She was still at that age where most people appeared physically close to being an adult, but were still immature bubbleheads.

“She doesn’t know what sex is.  So, why didn’t you go out with Hoyola?”

“I don’t know who Hoyola is.”

“Sure you do!  I introduced you at your Passage birthday celebration.”

“You shoved twenty girls at me that night.”

“Yeah, but I told you to go out with Hoyola.”

Fire shrugged a shoulder and felt Shyla still hanging onto him.  He shimmied out of the man’s grasp and shoved him toward Winter.

“Distract her for me, will you?” he murmured.

Normally watching the strange interaction between Shyla and Winter was quite entertaining as the Creevat’taugh couldn’t find his tongue nor meet her eyes and Winter delighted in exploiting that discomfort.  But he wanted to talk to Ice, who had moved to stand by his twin sister, Snow.  The younger children were clustered together talking disjointedly about three or four different topics.  Leaffall leaned against the back wall directly in between two lanterns so that he was partly in shadow.  He had an affectionate arm draped around Daymous’ shoulders and was either whispering in his servant’s ear or nibbling on it.  Daymous stood still and unresponsive, except for where the fingers of his left hand possessively caressed the bottom of Leaffall’s un-tucked cotton shirt.

Ice and Snow smiled at Fire as he approached.  He got that look from people a lot: soft smiles and sappy faces.  It was similar, though different, from the way everyone smiled at Frost.  It made Fire wonder if there was something wrong with him.

“Do either of you know why Father has summoned us?” he asked.

Snow shook her head and continued to try to tame Roselite’s wild, frizzy hair into a manageable braid.  Ice crossed his arms and looked like he held back a sigh.

“Well, he’s asking to see all his children in the main hall that, if the din coming from behind the doors is any indication, is quite full of people.”

Snow stopped in mid-plait and looked up at Ice.  “You don’t think…”

“I do,” he said in his deep baritone.

“What?” Fire asked.

“He’s going to name an heir.”

 

Azurite stood on the stone balcony, surrounded by thick, stone walls, her hands leeched of heat where they rested on the cold, stone half wall that overlooked Shrija.  She hated stone; especially the hard, colorless rock that was predominant in the north of the Belt.  The kind that had made up her home for the last fifteen years.  At least the rest of the city was made of the colorful stucco.  It made the view from the hard, grey balcony bearable.  But beyond the city, the fields were brown with wheat, barley, and rye.  There was some green mixed in from the corn and the leaves of the orchards, but as far as her eyes could see it might as well have been a desert for all the lack of variation.  It was like Purin Keep, where Siltin’s brother Sildun made his residence, surrounded by rice paddies and completely lacking in diversity.  She hadn’t been home in sixteen years, but she could still see the view from the house she had shared with her poor dead first husband when she closed her eyes: tall, weeping palms, fire plants with their orangey fronds, the painted bark of eucalyptus trees, flowers of every shape, size, and color spilling down bright green grass to the strip of white sandy beach bordered by water bluer than the sky.  Waking every morning with the windows open, a light breeze blowing the gauzy curtains back with the scent of flowers and spice and carrying the sounds of birds and insects made life worth waking up to.  Now she woke to candlelight as there were no windows in the inner most chambers of the keep.  And even if there were, in the winter, the sun barely shone enough to call it day.

She was homesick, plain and simple.  She missed the warmth, the feeling of sand disintegrating between her toes as the waves washed over her feet.  She missed her mother and sisters; her father, whom she did love, wasn’t missed quite so much.  She missed her daughters most of all.  Her five children by Siltin could not fill the hole in her heart made by their absence.  But she had work to do, and she was willing to suffer and sacrifice for the good of the mission.  A mission she had very nearly ruined by foolishly risking her life.  Or so her father had put it when he’d come to visit her in the aftermath.  She’d delivered six healthy children before, so why should she have been concerned by a seventh?

Her pregnancy with Olivine had not progressed any differently than the others and she had remained strong and ambulatory up until the first labor pains.  It wasn’t until her labor entered its second day that it became evident the child was breach.  The midwife had determined that the baby was twisted, her legs split and she would be unable to birth the child.  In her fevered pain Azurite had heard them discussing whether they should wait for the baby to die and then try to force it out or if they should try to cut it out of her.  Siltin had been less than helpful, raging at everybody who did not give him the answers he wanted to hear.  Every person within the walls of Shrija who had some claim of medicine was summoned to the chambers to examine the queen consort.  The pain became unbearable, she’d started to bleed as the labor would not stop, but could not finish.  She didn’t remember most of the debate that took place around her; she’d kept hallucinating that she was back in school on Pendra.  The one moment of lucidity had come when Siltin had taken her hand and tried to explain what they were going to do to try to save her life.  All she could understand was that they were going to have to kill the baby.  And her reaction to this news had stunned her.  She disliked Siltin, had no loyalties to him.  She thought everything he touched was tainted.  And yet, she loved his children.  _Her_ children by him.  She loved this tiny life inside her despite never having met her before.  She’d pleaded with him to save the child’s life even at the cost of her own.

Later, she’d been told that they had decided to heed her wishes and were about to cut the child out of her, when a woman from the Draeden clans came forward.  It was rare that someone of the warrior women clans would leave their homelands in the Phon river basin, and even rarer that they would offer help to outsiders.  They were greatly mistrusted as they were notorious for disguising bad wares as good and selling them at exorbitant prices.  Siltin had been counseled to ignore the woman, but she’d insisted she’d be able to save mother and baby for among the Draeden no woman gave birth to her children.  All were cut from their mother’s bellies to save the woman the discomfort of labor.  She had shown them not to cut across the top of the belly, but at the base.  She had made such a small incision, but still she had been able to reach in and pull out the child, barely breathing as the umbilical cord had been wrapped around her neck.

Azurite had no memory of any of this and the only proof that it had happened at all was a small, thin, white scar on her lower abdomen that might not have even been visible on a lighter skinned person.  That, and her daughter of course.  She’d remained delirious in bed for several days before her fever finally broke.  When she came to herself, she found that she was pressed against a familiar body with a familiar scent, one she couldn’t stand, and yet brought her comfort.  When she’d raised her head to look at her husband, she’d been shocked so horribly that she’d bolted upright and then been doubled over in pain from the swift movement.  It took her a moment to realize that the stranger in her bed _was_ Siltin, but he had shaved his head and beard.  He told her he had offered the hair and his heart’s blood to the ancestors in exchange for her safe recovery.  She didn’t know what he meant by heart’s blood, and she’d been afraid to ask.  She’d tried to be surly and to tell him to go away, but when he’d gathered her close to his strong, warm body, she’d been unable to voice any further complaints.

She’d heard of the O-nam people performing such rituals before, making heathenish offerings to long dead relatives for some sort of miracle for the living.  It wasn’t something they were allowed to do often, only in dire situations, but it still seemed like hair and blood was a strange payment for a life.  She’d heard that Siltin had made the same offering for his first wife, the dead queen, but she hadn’t lived.  Then again, Siltin told her he’d only proffered his vein’s blood in his arrogance and the ancestors had rejected his insincere offering.  He took no chances with her.  Again that had brought up exactly what heart’s blood was and how one could get it, but she didn’t want to know.  She didn’t want to acknowledge the lengths this man had gone to in order to save her life.  The barbaric ritual aside, he’d made a payment to the Draeden woman of six of his finest mares and six of his finest stud stallions, a hundred head of sheep, ten baskets full of the finest Alpaca and Angora wool, and the promise that his heir would travel through Draeden territory and not around it when the time came for his or her journey.  It was an astonishing amount of riches to gift to one person, but the woman had not left for several months, choosing to wait in order to prove that both mother and child thrived, and Siltin had not hesitated to pay her.

After that her relationship with Siltin had not changed much as they both distrusted the other and found each other’s company intolerable outside of the bedroom.  And that had been another bone of contention.  Siltin, unwilling to risk his wife’s life again though equally unwilling to give up his marriage benefits, had insisted a medicinary come to her and mix a potion of bitter herbs and a strange, foul-tasting liquid for her to drink to prevent anymore pregnancies.  She’d objected strongly, and he had made it clear that she didn’t have a choice.  She’d never understood this pigheadedness he had about it; after all he was well within his rights to marry as many women (or men if the mood should strike him though she’d never seen him show even the slightest interest in men) as he pleased.  But he’d not remarried and so she’d tried, and failed, to find a way to get out of gagging down the disgusting concoction but the old woman mixed it herself in front of Azurite and then waited while the queen consort forced it down.  She’d had to drink it once a week for half a year, and then once a month after that.  She’d never gotten pregnant again, but that had nothing to do with superstitious concoctions and everything to do with a destroyed womb.  Azurite was certain that whatever the Draeden woman had done had resulted in her becoming barren.  Or so she’d thought.

The years that followed the birth of her last child had been busy as she’d been forced to meet her father several times a year so that he could remind her that her life was not her own, she had a greater purpose than to be an ignorant man’s whore, and if she wasn’t more careful and serious about her work that she could easily be replaced.  She knew that last threat was mostly hollow.  It would be impossible to replace her with someone who had a higher position than she did, and certainly difficult to find someone as committed to the cause.  Though she had to admit that last part wouldn’t be impossible.  She’d tied herself to the Belt and O-nam through her children by Siltin, but even in hindsight she would still choose to have had them.  All five were a perfect blending of Pendran beauty and O-nam spirit.  They all had good souls and funny, quirky personalities, though Barite had definitely inherited her father’s temper.  She would give none of them up, not even if it meant guaranteed success of her—their—goals.  Her father had not been to the Belt in five years, confident he had gotten his daughter to return to good sense, and those years had been amazingly stress free.  Her role in the plan was going flawlessly, one little brush with death aside.  But even her death would not spoil their plans.  She had to believe that.  She prayed every night that her death would not ruin everything her family had worked for because it was at risk again.

The old medicinary had finally died not a year ago.  She’d gotten her maid servant, Loama (who had surprisingly stayed with her this long), to take over mixing the contraception brew.  Of course, now all it consisted of was herbal tea and was quite pleasant to drink.  Though clearly not as effective as that sludge she had been drinking for nine years.  Damn men for being able to make children for long past when women could not.  It was a sign of their unnatural affinity with the pagan gods.

Azurite let her eyes settle on the horizon.  Was that line the far away Northern Ocean?  Probably not.  She was facing east.  She felt the solid presence of her husband loom behind her.  Then he pressed himself against her, his right hand sliding over the silk of her gown to protectively cover the slight swell of her abdomen.  He’d been furious when she’d told him.  And also elated.  She’d laughed at the war he’d waged with himself as he’d stormed around the room.  After facing death, she no longer feared him, not that she really had before.  But since learning of her pregnancy, he’d treated her like glass, barely letting her stir out of doors or do anything for herself.  And she still had five months to go before she came to term.  She might murder the man before then.

His lips found her neck.  “It’s time, wife,” he murmured.

She pulled away from him.  “Then we’d better hurry.”  She softened her actions and sharp response by turning back just enough to give him a smile.  A year ago she never would have done that.  Surely she wasn’t starting to feel affection for the man now.  Not after all that hard work to keep him at a distance.  He was at her side in two large strides and took her arm to escort her to the main hall.

The main hall was in the second construction of the royal keep and therefore had been made of granite and built large with high ceilings and full of windows.  In the early afternoon the hall was completely lit with natural light; no lanterns or torches were needed.  The entire back of the room was the dais for the royalty, with thrones carved out of the granite wall itself.  It reminded Azurite a little too much of the barrows to ever be comfortable sitting in one no matter how many cushions were artfully situated for her rump and back.  The ceiling was a series of arches, all carved in the shape of men and women as if holding up the rock.  Due to the strength of the arches, only a few pillars were scattered throughout the room for additional support, but each was carved out of a different colored stone with spirals and grooves and hidden scenes of people and animals that could be seen only from certain angles.  The floor was made from that strange rock, marble, that she had seen nowhere but in O-nam.  She liked white marble the best, like what the royal baths had been made from, but the floor of the main hall was impressive.  Six different shades of marble, pinks and pale yellows and veined blues created a patchwork pattern on the floor; it vaguely resembled the city of Shrija itself.

At this moment, the hall was filled with a crush of people: citizens of Shrija from outlying farmers to well to do merchants, people from large and small cities across O-nam, representatives from all the major nations of the Belt, and Siltin’s brothers, their wives and children.  There must have been more than five hundred people crammed into the space, making the ordinarily massive room seem quite tiny.  The crowd buzzed and murmured as King Siltin and Queen Consort II Azurite made their way to the granite thrones.  Already on the dais sat Siltin’s ancient mother who couldn’t see or hear very well anymore, but who was otherwise quite hale.  Siltin’s brothers also had a place, while their wives and children were arranged in decorous wooden chairs on the raised dais.  Silmon’s first wife, Milka, could not quite hide her anger and disgust as she looked at Azurite.  The queen consort had borne five children to her husband and at the age of fifty-six was pregnant with her sixth.  Milka had not ever been able to conceive and that was why Silmon had married his second and third wives who had given him seven and four children respectively.  Though Azurite felt that had just been an excuse.  Even if Milka had been able to have children, she’d little doubt Silmon would have still married again, along with entertaining a steady stream of mistresses despite such extramarital affairs being frowned on by O-nam custom.  Or perhaps it was that Milka envied Azurite for her faithful husband.  She supposed that was Siltin’s one good trait.

Siltin kept a firm hold of her with one hand holding hers and the other at her back as he helped her up the three stairs of the dais.  Five more months of this.  She frowned a little at that thought as he delivered her onto the granite throne reserved for the king or queen consort, but as he turned to seat himself in the Sovereign’s Throne, she closed her fingers around his and retained the comfort that physical contact with him brought her.  If her father could see her now, he might spontaneously burst into flames with his anger.

Once they were seated, the crowd quieted—as much as a crowd that size can with the muffled noise of shifting feet, nose scratching, and suppressed coughs creating constant background noise.  The red cypress doors were pulled open by Blooddrinkers and everyone turned to face the noisy gaggle of people that waited in the antechamber.  They threw up their hands to protect their eyes from the burst of sunlight, and then went quiet when they saw how many eyes were on them.  One of them sneezed.  She couldn’t see from the distance she was who had done it, but she was pretty certain in was Celestite.  The poor dear had allergies.  The group of children shuffled forward in a bunch.  The older ones probably would have preferred to walk more regally for their audience, but there were too many small children holding onto hands and clothing as some of them had only seen a full court once or twice before.  As they neared the dais, two peeled off to melt into the crowd.  Azurite easily recognized them as Leaffall’s servant and Fire’s friend, since one was white from head to toe and the other dark.  She’d heard the servant was an orphan from Maubern, but she didn’t recall those people being particularly dark skinned.

At last twelve of Siltin’s fourteen children (one missing on his horse picking expedition or some such nonsense, and one excused from the ceremony due to his fear of crowds) stood in a line from oldest to youngest in front of the dais; they stretched nearly as long as the dais itself, Ice and Olivine practically being mixed into the crowd at the ends.  They represented quite a collection of skin tones, hair and eye colors, and heights.  It was hard to believe one man had made them all, though there was a noticeable difference between her children and the dead queen’s.  Winter was easy to spot as she stood practically naked, clad in worn leather nearly the color of her tanned skin, but topped with that ice blonde hair of hers.  Roselite was also easy to spot with her shockingly red hair, though at least someone had managed to wrangle it into a braid so she didn’t look completely wild.  Azurite’s eyes traveled over the children, though the oldest four had reached the age of majority and were children no longer, examining each one carefully.  They all looked reserved and serious as they stood with hands clasped behind their backs and feet at shoulder width.  Even Leaffall and Winter were behaving themselves.  It was probably a good thing Sardonyx was absent: he had taken on the wildness of the dead queen’s children.  Though she supposed that wildness was probably Siltin’s doing.  Then her eyes came to rest on Fire.

His sweet disposition had not disappeared with his childish innocence, but neither was he weak.  In truth, Azurite would call him both Siltin’s most accommodating and stubborn child.  He just never showed his temper so it was hard to tell when he was conceding and when he was digging in his heels.  She supposed his siblings and friends saw him in worse tempers, but she had only ever seen him angry once in her life.  A stable hand had whipped Fire’s beloved horse when the brute had bitten him.  Fire had brought the man before his father and demanded the man be removed from royal service.  It was a minor infraction indeed, but the only request this son had asked of him in seventeen years of life, so he’d granted it.  Rumor had it the man was shunned everywhere he went in O-nam for Fire was well known and well liked by the people.  And if someone had done something to displease such an easy-going boy, then surely he was a bad man indeed.

Fire still didn’t resemble his namesake, but at least he had grown.  He’d been quite short as a youth, but over the last several years he’d grown at such small and regular intervals that nobody really noticed.  He had no sudden growth spurts like most boys, but had somehow ended up almost, but not quite, as tall as his father and brother Ice, though much more delicately built.  He had strength from the work he did helping servants carry heavy burdens up and down the stairs of the great royal keep.  He had no great muscles but was toned from the swimming he did all through spring and summer.  Being an avid rider he’d developed the balance and grace of a man who was comfortable in his body.  Prettiness in a child had turned into beauty in a man inducing half the country to fall in love with him at first sight.  When he showed his shy smile, the other half was gone too.  His eyes had not dulled and were still the heartbreakingly blue waters of her homeland.  His hair though was finally a mystery solved.

It was a custom in O-nam for men and women to wear their hair long as a sign of status.  For if a person could afford to wash often enough to keep such long hair clean and shiny, then that person clearly had time on their hands rather having to toil all day long every day.  Siltin wore his hair short, clearly not because he worked too hard, but because Azurite suspected he didn’t like bathing that much.  Though she’d never found him to be pungent except when returning from the stables.  As a child Fire had worn, or been forced to keep, his hair shorn tightly to his head thus making it impossible to guess at its color.  As he’d approached his twenty-fifth birthday he’d insisted on letting it grow out.  And now it was _just_ long enough to truly see its color, and she finally believed the story she’d been told about the one child of the dead queen that had died.  She hadn’t been able to glean anything from the servants herself, but had gotten Loama to ferret the story out for her.

One day when Fire and his twin sister, Sun, had been four years old, they had been on an outing with their older siblings and parents to the barrows.  On the way back, Siltin had decided to take a detour to one of the outlying farms of Shrija; he liked to make surprise visits to his subjects as a show of his magnanimous nature as he always left gifts for the folk who had to host him at last minute.  Though Azurite also suspected he did it to remind the people that the king was a real person and not a faceless name in the imposing keep.  Somehow, the youngest twins had gotten away from their nannies and disappeared.  Loama had informed her that there had been talk of evil animal spirits being responsible for hiding the children from the watchful eyes of several servants and guards.  The whole party had searched for the children for as long as the sun was up, and with torches after as Siltin commanded the search continue all through the night.  He himself had wandered the fields, calling his children’s names.  They did not leave the farm for a full three days, and probably would have stayed longer if they had not been found.  On the morning of the third day, the children had been discovered at the bottom of the old well the farmer did not use since digging a new one.  When they pulled the children out, it had been apparent the fall had killed Sun instantly and Fire had been trapped in the dank, dark of the crumbling well with the corpse of his dead twin for three days.  Loama told her the servants said that those twins had matched perfectly and were nearly impossible to tell boy from girl.  They had the same fair skin, bright blues eyes, and hair as black and glossy as the obsidian fields surrounding the barrows.  When they had retrieved Fire, they had all thought he had dust on his head as there was a line of grey-white at his scalp.  But as his hair grew, it became apparent the shock and the trauma had drained the color right out of his hair.  As he stood before her now, a twenty-five year old man with a youthful face and lithe body, he had the salt and pepper grey hair of a man well past his prime.  It was disconcerting to say the least, and yet it was also a notice that despite his energetic and pleasant character, he harbored wisdom well beyond his years.

Fire reminded Azurite greatly of her poor dead first husband.  She’d been concerned she might have inappropriate thoughts toward the boy when he’d started to fill out into the virile man he’d become, but somehow a lean, delicate body no longer attracted her.  She couldn’t imagine what had caused the change in preference as she glanced at her beast of a husband.  He grinned back her, white teeth flashing in that damned beard.  She’d gotten him to keep his face shaved smooth for almost a year after his offering for his wife’s life, but when winter came back he’d insisted it was too cold to go without it.  None of his children, or many of the people of O-nam for that matter, wore beards.  Even in the north, winters were mild compared to some parts of the Belt.  Azurite thought he wore the beard so no one would know exactly how good looking he was.  He’d told her time and again that a king had to be a little ugly or people wouldn’t respect him.

He rose from his throne, his daunting presence able to induce that actual complete silence from the crowd as everyone stopped shifting and fidgeting.  He’d kept his hold on Azurite’s hand and she was forced to stand with him.  He took a couple of steps forward and wrapped his arm around his wife, turning her slightly oblique to the crowd.  There was a muffled wave of soft gasps and murmurings as her pregnancy was now clearly noticeable as it was outlined by the tight shape of the pink silk gown she wore.  She was grateful at least that Siltin didn’t feel the need to announce his impending children with fanfares and cheers; this was a little embarrassing, but certainly less so than having it announced in that roaring voice of his.  The crowd quickly quieted down again and dipped their heads in respect to his presence.  Or perhaps his virility at such an advanced age.  Unlike the monarchies of legend, the people of O-nam did not bow before the kings and queens who ruled them.  They only went to their knees when the royalty shed their blood in some ritual.  For it was not just blood, but it was the Blood—blood of Earth Child, the son of Earth Mother herself not diluted by the blood of Il-Sumaedrah.  It was for that reason that the people of O-nam acknowledged the right of the royal family to rule over them for they were not ordinary humans.  Or so the legends went.

“Wife,” Siltin spoke into the silence, which made his already loud voice seem booming.  She also hated that he called her wife in front of other people.  Who was he reminding, them or her?  “Tell the people what you said to me last night in our chambers.”

She shot the old he-goat a sly look from the corner of her eye.  Was he trying to imply he’d had his wife even in her delicate condition?  What a pig.  Not a lie, but a pig nonetheless.

She feigned thought at remembering for a moment, and then said, “I believe I told you I had received a letter from my daughters the day before.”

She knew what her line was supposed to be, and that wasn’t it, but she wanted to see Fire’s reaction to the news.  His eyes flicked over to her, but then returned to his father.  He made no other sign that he cared to hear about her two oldest daughters, returned to their homeland these past ten years.

Siltin turned his head to look at her.  She smiled sweetly at him, her head tilted back quite a bit to meet his eyes.

“Oh, you meant the other.”

He smiled softly, his eyes darkening.  For some reason her impertinence always aroused him.  It appeared she would not be resting in her own chambers this evening either.

“I believe I mentioned to you that it was time for you to name an heir, whether he or she is of age yet or not.”

The crowd buzzed, the energy level of the room jumped, creating an almost tangible ripple of excitement that rolled through the room and crashed back in on itself.  There had been rumors circulating for years now that Siltin was determined to choose one of Azurite’s children as his heir, which is why he had waited so long to make the announcement.  Roselite was fourteen now, not yet showing the early signs of entering womanhood, but old enough to have the mantle of succession placed upon her.  But Azurite knew Siltin did not have his youngest children in mind for the throne, and she did not mind.  Her child did not need to sit on the throne for her plan to succeed.  Through their discussion she was pretty certain he had settled on Ice, as since their last conversation on the subject the un-ambitious boy had found his ambition and become an excellent and somewhat ruthless businessman, which is really what the king of O-nam needed to be.  She knew Siltin was wavering on whether or not he should name Snow as heir and thus return to a queen of the Blood as there had been three male kings for the last three generations; a fourth succeeding male would be unprecedented.  Leaffall shifted his weight and drew her attention.  Of course, Siltin had also made a fairly good case for his third child last night as he’d paced around the room.  Air’s name had also been tossed around as she’d become a strong girl with more brains than emotions, but her stone-cold nature also worried Siltin a bit.  So, it was probably between Ice and Snow.  Then she glanced at Leaffall.  She cursed inwardly.  She was going to have to wait to find out with everyone else.  Siltin was a notoriously difficult man to predict.

“I agree with you, wife, queen consort of the people but queen of my heart.”  She shot him a dirty look and the crowd chuckled.  The people of O-nam were not unaware of the tempestuous relationship of their king and queen consort.  “It is not a decision to be made lightly and I have been thinking on it for many years.  But it is a decision that also cannot be put off until the answer becomes apparent.  The heir I have chosen is a representative of the people, capable of understanding those from all walks of life, adept at judging quickly and fairly, knowledgeable of the world and the spider web of relationships that bind us all together, merciful as a sovereign should be, but severe when necessary.  I name to succeed me as sovereign of O-nam, Fire of the Blood.”

What followed the grand announcement was stunned silence.  The crowd was still, Siltin’s children blinked rapidly, Blooddrinkers’ jaws dropped slightly, Azurite could even feel the subdued confusion that radiated off the royal family behind her.  None looked so completely shocked as Fire himself.  He was also the only one who appeared upset by the news.  He started forward and the movement woke up the crowd.  They cheered wildly, though a lot of the noise was the people yammering their surprise.  Fire faltered at the sudden upheaval, but he quickly made it up the steps to the dais and grabbed his father’s arm.  He had to lean in close to be heard over the noise.

“Father, don’t do this.  I don’t want this.”

Siltin pulled his arm from Fire’s grasp and tenderly cradled his son’s distressed face.  Azurite was amazed to see the expressions that passed over her husband’s features: pride, resolve, love, pity, and if she wasn’t mistaken, a touch of regret.

“Because you don’t want it,” Siltin said gently, “I know I’ve made the right decision.”

 

Fire knelt on his knees, sitting back on his feet, shivering from the contact with the cold stone on his bare skin.  He clasped his hands together and bowed his head until his forehead came to rest on his knuckles.  What was he doing here?  Why had his father chosen him?  How was he going to be able to become king after his father?  Was Ice’s thin smile really hiding his anger and disappointment?  He knew the answers to none of those questions.  All he knew for certain was that his father was implacable in his decision.

After what seemed to take hours, and possibly did, the crowd had been shuffled out of the main hall leaving only the royal family, to include his uncles and cousins, and a few Blooddrinkers hanging about discreetly by the doorways.  The first one to round on his father and decry his insanity had been Azurite.  She’d been absolutely furious and had minced no words on the idiocy of his choice.  Siltin’s brothers had joined in the conversation too, saying that while Fire was a good person, he certainly wasn’t in possession of the kind of mind suited for ruling.  Fire would have been offended if he hadn’t also thought it was true.  Silmon had even gone so far as to suggest that one of his children be named heir if Siltin felt none of his own were worthy.  This had inflamed Ice and strangely, Winter.  There had been a heated, though very brief shouting match.  Siltin had silenced them all with a roaring shout.  Then he had declared in no uncertain terms that his decision was by imperial decree.  The kings and queens did not play that card often for it could be quite dangerous.  An imperial decree essentially amounted to an unquestionable command by the sovereign.  Anyone who questioned it was in effect declaring their intention to challenge the sovereign for rule of the country.  Everyone had gone dead quiet, even Azurite who turned a strange sallow yellow under her gold skin in her effort to suppress her objections.

With the matter settled so irrevocably, his father had turned to other matters.  Namely, who would accompany Fire on his journey, which he was obligated to begin no more than seven days after being named heir.  The group had stiffly and awkwardly allowed themselves to be led into this next discussion.  Often times the sovereign’s second choice for heir was sent along so that there would be two who had completed their heir’s journey to better the odds that at least one would come back and be ready to rule immediately if need be rather than having to wait another one to three years for a second journey to be finished.  Ice had volunteered to go, but his wife, who had also been allowed to stay, had objected softly but firmly.  Siltin had, surprisingly (to some), readily agreed with Ice’s wife.  He had instead suggested that Leaffall accompany Fire until it was pointed out they would murder each other if forced to be around each other all day every day for a year or more.  Fire and Leaffall had had to be the ones to point that out.  His cousins were considered carefully, though most of them were much older than him and married already, and therefore reluctant to leave their families for so long.  The two youngest children by Silmon’s third wife were only a few years older than Fire, but Siltin rejected them outright.  It wasn’t spoken, but everyone knew he suspected those children of being more loyal to their mother than to the Blood.

Unable to reach a conclusion on a suitable Blood member to accompany Fire, Siltin had called Shyla forth, who had been partially hidden behind a pillar with Daymous and two of the other royal children’s personal body servants.  Siltin had instructed that Fire take Shyla along with him since it was time for him to return to Creevat’taugh per his arrangement with his father.  However, they would set out east instead of west, which would require Shyla to accompany him on most of the journey.  It was entirely customary for an heir to journey with only one other companion, but Siltin was determined to have another member of the Blood go.  Finally, he’d declared Winter would accompany Fire even though she was only twenty-one years old.  He hadn’t invoked another imperial decree, but his stubborn resolve made it clear he would brook no argument.  The royals had murmured under their breath, but no one raised any serious disagreement.  Fire being heir was already ludicrous enough, how much worse could it be to send the wild, unpredictable Winter along with him?  Azurite had stormed out of the main hall so self-assuredly indignant that it was hard to believe she had only come into her royal status fifteen years ago.

Slowly, everyone had left the hall until only Fire and his father had remained.  He wasn’t sure how long his father had sat next to him on the stairs of the dais, explaining his decision and trying to make him confident in his choice and in himself, but Fire didn’t hear most of it.  He’d been paralyzed with fear.  He was being sent away from the life he knew to go on an adventure.  He didn’t mind that bit at all.  The problem was when he came back.  People would be expecting someone different, someone wise and strong.  But he knew he could only be who he was, and he was not meant to rule a nation, born of the Blood notwithstanding.

Four days later he knelt outside his father’s chambers, naked, and calling on his ancestors to give him their strength to see this through.  Once made, the choice of heir could not be undone except by his death or mental incapacity to rule.  And if he was going to do this, he wanted to be an heir and a son his father could be proud of.  Beside him, Shyla hunched down, shivering in the cool dark for he was also naked.  His sister was pacing to stay warm, hiding her nakedness in the shadows.  Honestly, Fire was a little surprised by her modesty.  Soon they would be called into Siltin’s chambers and there given clothes for their journey.  This little ceremony was meant to be symbolic of the first heir to go on his journey, who had left the royal keep stark naked and with no possessions, so that he might learn what true strife and suffering was and how to appreciate the kindness and charity of others and what it meant to earn one’s keep.  That tradition had been abandoned at least a thousand years ago, with heirs being clothed by their parents before they left the keep.  They would also be “gifted” with weapons by the arms master and horses by the horse master before they even left the city.  Other than that they would have nothing.  No change of clothes or blankets or provisions.  Nothing to barter with.  It was why they had to leave in late spring as they would be sleeping outside with no shelter for several days if not weeks before they began to earn their supplies.

The heavy oak door to his father’s chamber creaked open and then swung the full arc on its hinges, thumping dully against the stone wall.  The king’s suite was built at the very center of the ancient royal keep, but above the other chambers.  Thus fortified, the ancient builders had made some stones of the walls out of much thinner blocks so that windows could be cut into them.  It was still about half a meter thick, but the eight large windows allowed for natural light to fill the rooms where the rest of the inner keep was in perpetual night without the aid of fire.  Thick panes of glass had been installed in the outer openings of the windows hundreds of years ago, maybe longer, and did manage to keep out wet weather and block some of the chill of winter, but were so thick the view through them was distorted.

It was not long after sunrise and the weak, early light filtered in through the east facing windows only.  Lanterns had been lit to supplement the grey dawn light and illuminated the occupants of the room.  Only one Blooddrinker stood in attendance at the door.  His father waited in the middle of his receiving room, arms crossed over his chest.  To his right stood Azurite, the same sour expression she’d had on her face for four days now.  The only others in attendance were Ice, Snow, Leaffall, and surprisingly, Frost.  Truly told it was a small assembly considering who all had the right to be present, but he still stood slowly, blushing furiously, with his hands clasped in front of his groin.  He walked into the room to stand before his father, Winter on his left trying to cover her groin and breasts the best she could and Shyla to his right.  He made no attempt to cover his body.  In fact he planted his feet shoulder width apart and placed his hands on his hips.  Fire tried to remember from his one trip to Creevat’taugh so many years ago if the people there had run around in the nude.  He didn’t recall such a thing, but he didn’t put it past such a touchy-feely people.  They would be “nudists.”  He’d learned that word not two years ago when he’d traveled to the southernmost city in all of O-nam; barely more than a village all the people from the youngest babe to the oldest grandpa had walked around without a stitch on.  They’d claimed it was too hot even in winter to wear clothing.  Fire didn’t doubt it was disgustingly hot in the summer, but he had a feeling the people just liked to be naked more than they disliked being cold.

Returned to his present situation by both Snow’s and Azurite’s stifled noises of appreciation as they looked at the immodest Creevat’taugh, Fire couldn’t help but glance over and down at his friend.  Fire wasn’t that impressed.  It probably only looked bigger because his body was so small.  He raised his eyes to meet his father’s.  He glanced at Azurite once, and blushed to have her look upon him.  He could imagine those dark doe-eyes belonging to another woman.

“Fire of the Blood,” his father said gravely.

Fire returned his gaze to his father’s, willing the blush to recede.  He only partially succeeded.

“My liege.”

“Do you accept the obligation laid upon your shoulders by Earth Child, first of the Blood?”

“With an open mind and willing heart.”  He spoke the required words and hoped he wasn’t lying.

“Come forward and offer your blood in promise.”

Fire stepped forward, and blushed harder as he had to move one hand to offer his wrist to his father.  The man had a rare clear, uncolored glass goblet in his hand.  It was filled with pure spring water that sparkled as brightly in the rising sun as the glass did.  His father handed the goblet to his wife; she held it cupped in two hands as Siltin unsheathed a viciously sharp knife with an ebony handle carved in the shape of a stag’s great head.  It was said to have belonged to Black Hart, last of the heathen kings.  Siltin took his son’s left wrist, and then ran a thumb over the raised scar tissue of old white marks and red healing ones that covered the delicate inner skin.  He raised an eyebrow at his son as he touched the deformity.

“I see you’ve offered enough blood to Earth Child to protect you for the next several lifetimes,” he murmured softly.

Fire dropped his eyes and blushed yet again at the gentle admonishment.  He could see his father hesitate as he tried to decide where to cut his skin.  Finally he made a small incision on fresh skin, but as close to the mass of scars as possible.  Fire’s blood fell dark and thick from the cut, appearing almost black when it hit the cold, clear water, and then dissipating to color the entire contents a soft pink.  Siltin put his lips to the wound, sucking the blood from his son’s wrist as he handed the knife to Ice in exchange for a clean red cloth.  Siltin then tied the cloth around Fire’s wrist, staunching the flow of blood.

“Those chosen to journey with the heir, come forward to either except or refuse your charge as companion, advisor, and protector.  If you accept this responsibility, drink from the cup that contains his Blood and bind yourselves to his life.”

  Winter and Shyla came forward, and took turns drinking from the cup.  As was custom, they left some for the king to drink.  However, since he had taken in Fire’s blood undiluted, he offered the cup to his wife.

“Drink, wife, and tie our youngest and last child to the fate of the future sovereign.”

Fire could see the blood drain from Azurite’s face underneath her dark skin.  She stared at Siltin, but the king had that look on his face that meant he would accept disobedience from no one.  With shaking hands, Azurite sipped once, tried to hide a gag, and then finished it off in one strong gulp.  Siltin had a glint in his eyes, more than pleased with his foreign wife’s fealty.  Anyone from O-nam would offer just about anything for the smallest drop of royal Blood.  Outsiders were a lot more leery of the practice.  Fire had informed Shyla of the ritual well in advance so that he could prepare himself.  He had hesitated only for a moment before drinking.

Fire, Winter, and Shyla returned to their places in front of the king.  They had to be tasked with the journey before it was official.

“Now,” Siltin said, voice low, but straining with satisfaction.  “I command by imperial decree that my selected heir and his companions make a journey around the Belt, not to return until the circuit is completed in its entirety, or not to return at all.  I task you with four obligations to fulfill.  First, the man known as Sonhee—Sonheeyay—Son—damn it, boy, how do you say your formal name?”

Shyla tried hard not to smile as he replied, “Sonhiyelasa is my name in its entirety, but Shyla is the formal abbreviation and can be used in ceremony.”

“Thank the ancestors,” Siltin said with a small laugh.  “I’d never be able to get out your father’s name.”

Everyone except Azurite and Ice smiled, and then his father cleared his throat.  All returned to their serious faces.  His father began again.

“Your first tasking, heir, is to fulfill the promise I made on my heir’s journey to Reedo of the city of Wel…dos…v’ing…tough in Creevat’taugh by safely escorting and delivering his son, Shyla, into his hands and no one else’s.  Do you accept?”

“I accept.”

“Your second tasking is that you fulfill the oath I made to Skybiter, daughter of Rockhead, by passing through the lands of the Draeden clans and attempt to enter into negotiations with their leader.  Do you accept?”

“I accept.”

“Thirdly, I task you to seek out Senator Briseis of the Republic of Maubern and inform him that while we are honored, we cannot accept his daughter’s proffered hand—”

“Father.”

Everyone turned to see who dared to interrupt the ceremony.

 _Of course_ , Fire thought.  _Leaf._

“Father, before you task Fire, I would like to acknowledge that I will concede to your greater wisdom and will marry the daughter of Senator Briseis.”

Siltin gave his most troublesome son a long hard look with a comically narrowed eye.  He kept this stare on Leaffall for quite a while as everyone waited for his reaction in silence.  Finally, the man sighed.

“And what do you ask for in return for doing what you ought and obeying your father?”

“Let me also marry Daymous.”

Siltin grunted.  “I knew I should have taken that boy away from you the first time I caught you two together.”  Leaffall just chewed on a lip and tried to look contrite and not pleased with himself.  “You do realize one of the main reasons I did not select you to be heir was because of Daymous.  He controls your mind too much.”

“If he controls my mind so much, then surely he is responsible for turning me into the man you considered to make heir.”

“And if he were of the Blood I’d surely choose him over any of you.”

Siltin’s other children, even Fire, grunted and shifted their weight, greatly irked.  All their lives they’d been told how much he wished he’d had children with as much sense as that humble serving boy.  A boy who had grown up among the royals, but had also been separate.  Fire knew that Leaffall was fond of Daymous, and he was only mildly surprised by his brother’s bold request.  The real shock would be if Daymous even agreed to do it.  It was one thing to serve a spoiled prince and heed his every slightest whim…but to bind oneself in marriage to such a demanding force?  Surely Siltin would say the man was much too sensible for that.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Leaf,” their father said.  “Fire will collect the senator’s daughter on his journey.  When they return, you will marry her.  Once she has borne a healthy child of the Blood, then, and _only_ then, may you marry whom you please.  No…not whom you please…you may marry Daymous.  And only if _he_ tells me in person, without you present, that that is also his wish.”

Leaffall scowled at his four siblings as they snorted to try to conceal their laughter.  He snatched the black stag dagger from Ice and slit his palm open.  He held out the oozing wound to his father.  Azurite looked up at the ceiling and appeared as if she was trying hard to remember to breathe or she might pass out.

“Our bargain,” Leaffall said, the most serious Fire had ever seen him.

Siltin pressed his palm to his son’s bleeding hand, and then brought it to his lips to lick away the offering.

“Our bargain.”

“Aish, I wish I could be there when Daymous hears about this,” Winter whispered.

Fire glanced at her and they repressed giggles.  Siltin cleared his throat and everyone tried, once again, to give the ceremony the seriousness it was due.  It also reminded Fire that he was supposed to be scared shitless.  And he very nearly was as mirth turned to cold fear and plummeted into his guts.

“Heir, your third tasking is to locate Senator Briseis in Lakeside City of Maubern, inform him that the royal family accepts his daughter’s proffered hand of marriage, and escort the young lady on the rest of your journey and deliver her safely to your brother Leaffall’s hands and no one else’s.  Do you accept this task?”

“I accept.”

“Finally, I task you to see the world.  To explore its peoples and cultures.  To allow yourself to be changed by your experiences, but to remain true to yourself.  I task you to accomplish all of this and to return safely to O-nam in no more than three years and to deliver yourself into my hands, or to the legal regent at the time of your return, and to no one else’s.  Do you accept this task?”

Fire drew breath to answer, but the air hitched in his throat.  He dropped his head and closed his eyes for a moment as he took in a few deep breaths.  Then he raised his head and met his father’s eyes with what he hoped was a strong, poised expression.  The way his father’s mouth quirked up at one corner told him he hadn’t quite succeeded.

“I accept,” he said, sounding confident even to his own ears.

“So be it.  The heir and his companions will begin their journey now.”

Fire, Winter, and Shyla lowered their heads and closed their eyes as if in deference, but really it was so the others could shuffle around behind them and go from being the royal witnesses to just their family, and therefore eligible to offer gifts to the travelers.

Fire waited a moment to allow his family to rearrange themselves, but then Winter turned and stomped over to Snow.

“Sister,” Snow began, “even though we are kin, I am a married woman with my own household and therefore able to—”

“Enough with the formalities!” Winter growled and snatched the clothing from her sister’s hands.  She scuttled to a corner and began to dress.

Fire turned to share a smile with Shyla, but he was blushing and staring at the floor.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you looking, you pervert!”  Winter’s indignant voice carried quite sharply through the stone room.

Shyla’s jaw dropped in hurt offense.  “But I didn’t…” he whimpered.

Fire patted him on the shoulder.  “Well, you got blamed for it anyway.  Should have looked after all.”

“I have better manners than that,” he grumbled.

“Well, it’s not hard to have better manners than most people in this family,” Azurite muttered.  Then she looked up at Fire, and smiled.  It wasn’t entirely maternal, and he blushed.  “Come here, heir.  You are no kin to me, so I may gift you for your journey.”

Shyla was similarly offered clothing by Ice and Leaffall.  Fire walked up to Azurite and took the bundle of clothes from her.  He could feel the fineness of the high thread count of the white cotton shirt and the leather pants were soft and supple.  The quality was much better than anything he could procure in most markets of the country.  He really didn’t think it was in the spirit of the journey to start off with such finery, but he could not refuse.  Folded inside the shirt and pants were an undershirt woven from the incredibly soft and lightweight wool of an Alpaca and a pair of silk undershorts.  Fire was embarrassed by the expensive, beautifully colored gift.  It seemed odd to wear such a rare luxury item dyed an expensive indigo blue against such an inelegant part of his body.  He might have refused these, knowing how long it took to procure enough silk from those worms to make any sort of garment, but the thought of staying naked any longer made him willing to accept the shorts.  He slipped them on and mumbled a thank you to Azurite.

“What was that?” she questioned him teasingly.

He mumbled another thank you as he hastily pulled on the Alpaca undershirt.  Then he said in a soft, barely intelligible voice, “The silk is too much.”

“Certainly not,” Azurite said primly.  “It’s my silk to do with as I please.  In fact, I wove the fabric myself.”

Fire ducked his head inside the cotton shirt and pretended to fumble with the opening to give himself time to recover.  He couldn’t help but feel the silk against certain parts of his body and imagine someone’s hands in the same place.

“I didn’t sew them, of course,” Azurite continued, either ignoring or not noticing his embarrassment.  “I’m frightfully unskilled at that sort of thing.  But Loama has an amazingly refined talent.  And silk is the only fiber that makes sense when I heard you had to wear leather because of all the riding.  It may feel fine now, but imagine being stuck in leather pants during the summer!  The silk will help wick away sweat.”

Fire finished hiking the leather pants up, which slipped easily over the silky undershorts, and laced up the crotch.  He didn’t think he’d ever be able to get dressed in front of anyone ever again.  Winter and Shyla were also in leather pants (he didn’t see what their undergarments were made from), but their cotton shirts were pale rose pink and bright jade green respectively.  Fire could tell that Winter wanted to maim her sister for the choice of color, but was forced to hold her tongue or risk having it all taken back.  Snow had a small smile on her face.  What were older sisters for if not to annoy their younger siblings?

In another ruse, the Blooddrinker provided them with two pairs of stockings each, one thick and one thin, and sturdy new boots that would probably blister their skin for the first several days before molding to the shape of their feet.  Thus outfitted, they were ready to leave the keep and be given more “spontaneous” gifts on their way out.  Azurite stopped the procession and Siltin lifted an eyebrow as he watched her approach Shyla.

“I am not your kin,” Azurite said to him.  “I owe you nothing and am not affected by the success or failure of your endeavor.  Therefore, what I offer I give with no expectation of return.”  She fastened a rope woven of gold and silver around his neck, the length of precious metals resting just on his clavicles.  “Take this to use as barter if you are ever in dire circumstances.”

Shyla could barely stammer out a thank you.  Then Azurite stood in front of Winter and spoke the same words.  Around her neck she affixed a fairly thick chain of platinum—the necklace was short, barely more than a choker, but it was certainly more of the rare metal than any of them had ever seen in one place before.  Azurite moved to stand in front of Fire.  Her eyes searched his face, and then she lifted a long, thin chain of unpolished copper from around her own neck, the pendant attached to it slid from its hiding place between her breasts.  It was small enough to fit in Azurite’s palm, made of a copper polished to a bright sheen.  It was in the shape of a circle, but had four points extending out about the length of a pinky finger.  There was a clear, multi-faceted stone set in the center, which sparkled in the full morning light.  There were strange designs scratched into the surface around the stone.  She placed this around Fire’s neck and let the pendant fall to rest against his skin under the Alpaca shirt.  She placed her hand on his chest, pressed against the pendant through his shirts.

“I am not your kin, so to give you this goes against _my_ customs.  It is very dear to me.  I cannot demand it, but I must strongly request you return it to me.”

Fire nodded dumbly.  Then found his voice enough to murmur, “Not kin by our laws.  But according to yours, am I not your…stair son?”

Azurite cocked her head slightly in confusion as she blinked at him.  Then she smiled and laughed softly.

“My stepson, you mean?  Yes.  By my laws, you are my son.”

Fire dropped his eyes.

“This displeases you?” she asked tetchily.

“No, of course not.  In some ways, I do think of you as my mother.  You’ve been a good mother to me for many years, and I—”  Fire felt some of the blood drain from his face.  Would his ancestors punish him for disrespecting his blood mother?  “I love you like my own mother,” he whispered softly, hoping only she could hear him.  “But…”

He trailed off and he saw her clasp her hands together.

“But you don’t want to think of Pria as your sister.”

He gave the slightest shake of his head.

“Pria has been gone for ten years, Fire.  Surely in all those years, you’ve both changed.  She is not the same girl she was just as you are not that same little boy.”

“I still love her,” he mumbled defiantly.

“You love the memory of her, boy.”

Fire ducked his head at the censure.  Then she stepped forward and threw her arms around his shoulders, having to stand on her tiptoes and press fully against him to do so.  Fire was stunned.  Surely he and Azurite had the closest relationship out of all of Siltin’s first wife’s children, but they had never been on hugging terms.

“He never once mentioned he was considering you!” she whispered in his ear.  “I never would have let him do it!  You deserve so much better.”

Fire, not knowing what else to do, wrapped his arms around her waist.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll try my best to make you and Father proud of me.”

“Oh, you silly child!  I don’t doubt your abilities!  I don’t doubt you will be a great king!  I just pity you for the life of hardship and intrigue that will plague you as a result.”

“Oh,” he said stupidly.

“You be careful!  Don’t let that harebrained sister of yours get you into too much trouble.  You must come back safely.  I must have my necklace back, do you understand me, young man?”

“Y-yes.”

Azurite pulled back and kissed him on the cheek.  Then she moved past him, looking as if she would have run all the way to the back rooms of the king’s suite if Siltin had not stopped her.  She had her hands covering her face, and surprisingly did nothing to fight her husband as he pulled her tightly into his embrace.  Her shoulders shook with silent sobs and she garbled out a string of words the gist of which Fire interpreted as her blaming her current hysteria on her pregnancy and by extension on Siltin.  Fire looked at his father, desperately seeking instruction.  The man gave him a reassuring smile, and held out a hand to him.  Fire moved to him immediately, taking the large, strong hand in both of his and bringing it to his lips.  Beside him, Winter moved to hug her twin.  She was only one of two people that Frost would allow to touch him.  Fire wondered if his brother understood what was going on, that they were leaving for a very long time.  With the very real possibility that something fatal could happen to any one of them.  He glanced at his strange brother who seemed to live in a world apart from the rest of them.  He was crying quietly as he hugged Winter and wrapped her braid around his hand.  Then Siltin pulled his hand from Fire’s grasp and put it behind his son’s head to pull him close.  He still held Azurite in one arm, but his arms were long enough to accommodate them both.

He kissed Fire on the head and said softly, “Take care, kitten.”

“Father!” Fire hissed in disgusted aggravation.  He did _not_ like that nickname.

“Go on,” the man said gruffly, releasing him.  “Get along with you.”

 Winter extracted herself from her twin and flung herself into her father’s open arm.  Fire turned and faced his siblings.  Ice shook his hand and Snow hugged him, kissing him on both cheeks.  Leaffall ruffled his hair roughly with both hands, and then bobbed away from him as Fire put up his hands for a play fight.  Winter was released from her father’s hold with a kiss and a blessing from the ancestors.  Then she was hugged and kissed by her siblings despite her protestations, and finally the Blooddrinker led them from the inner keep to the private quarters of the granite hall.  Here they were accosted by the rest of their siblings.  Olivine and Barite were inconsolable, wailing loudly and clinging to Fire and Winter’s hands.  Roselite and Celestite were only a little better off.  Brooke kept her composure because she felt she must comport herself in a more mature manner than her younger sisters, but when the trio tried to move on she latched onto Fire’s arm and cried loudest of all.  Rain and Air were the only ones who displayed any sort of rationality.  Then again the two of them were usually reserved and not prone to emotional displays.  Especially the stone cold Air.  But even she hugged her siblings with surprising tightness.  Then she stood in front of Shyla, which put them eye to eye even though she was only eighteen years old and not at her full height yet.

“They say you have to return to Creevat’taugh.  Will you stay there?”

“I think my family expects it of me.  Just as your family would expect you to return from whatever wild adventures you’ll go on one day.”

He smiled, but Air didn’t react.  Shyla’s expression fell and he glanced at Fire as if to say, “What is going on?”

“I want you to come back, Shyla,” Air said solemnly.  “But I understand if you can’t.”

She took his face in her hands and kissed him.  Her younger siblings squealed in amusement and her older ones stared in shock.  They hadn’t known Air was capable of that kind of feeling.  Air pulled back and Shyla stood stock still, as if afraid to make any sudden movements.

“Good luck,” Air said, “may the ancestors watch over you.”

Then she strode from the room.  Rain watched her go, but did not follow.  The Blooddrinker cleared his throat where he waited by the doors.  They still had two more stops to make before they officially left the city and the sun was already halfway through the morning.  Fire and Winter had to peel their younger siblings off and then they were free to follow the guard, only fading, pitiful wailing pulling back on their hearts.

They took the long way to the stables so that they could pass through the armory that lay within the outermost spiral of the keep.  Here the arms master stumbled over his carefully memorized and then forgotten words.  In the end, he got out enough of his speech that he could gift them all with fine bows made of black ebony with a core reinforced with ram horn, and strings made from a blending of hemp and animal sinew sealed with beeswax.  All were given a soft leather quiver with a long strap designed to be worn while on horseback behind their thighs.  They were filled with short and long arrows, fletched with goose feathers, for use in hunting large and small game.  Then the arms master presented Winter with a lightweight rapier, plain of hilt and design and beautiful only in its deadly point.  Winter would have refused anything frivolous.  Fire’s short sword was more delicately formed, the flame shaped hilt plated with rose gold to emulate a smoldering fire.  It was weighted perfectly in his hand and the belt and scabbard were measured perfectly to his body.  But of course, the arms master had been given their measurements.  Against the wall of the armory were three other swords: one designed with dripping ice from the hilt, a rapier that looked too beautiful to be very serviceable, and a long sword with hilt decorated with a serpent scaled with leaves.  Fire smiled wryly.  Daymous was named for the black, polished rocks that lined riverbeds, but a daemis was a small snake native to O-nam.  Leaffall would have loved it for clearly that sword was meant for him.  Obviously his father had commissioned all these weapons months in advance, but had not known even then who he would choose.  Had he really only decided just four days ago?  Perhaps that was why Winter’s rapier was so plain; it hadn’t been in deference to her preference but merely due to time constraints.  Shyla was not given a sword.  He’d been trained by the arms master and many of the guards in swordplay, and it was by unanimous vote that it would be safer for everybody if he never held a sword for the remainder of his life.

Lastly, the arms master’s three children came forward, each bearing a knife they had forged themselves.  His youngest child, a boy of seventeen was quite young to be trusted with such a task, but he’d already shown himself to have the same impeccable talent as his father.  He presented his knife to Shyla, sheathed in a rare and beautiful white doe skin.  The handle was carved from ivory in the shape of twined calligraphy brushes.  It was well known that Creevat’taughs valued art and architecture more than prowess with weapons.  The knife was more decorative than deadly, but the blade was still sharp and strong enough to be useful.

The middle child, a girl Winter’s age, presented her with a double-edged blade with a heavy hilt that made it more dagger than knife.  This she also presented with two sheaths, one so the blade could be carried in her boot and one that strapped surreptitiously to her thigh.  Winter grinned at the clever designs, twirling the blade deftly in her hand and causing Shyla to flinch away from her.

The arms master’s oldest child, a beautiful girl of twenty-four with golden hair, fair skin, and blue eyes smiled flirtatiously at Fire as she presented the knife she had made.  The handle was hard, blunt, almost ugly steel, but so delicately inlaid with twisting and leaping gold that the contrast made the work stunning.  The ridiculously sharp blade was bright with the thirst for violence.  Iron Strike, named after the sound of the forge rather than the action, touched the pad of her pointer finger to the very tip of the blade.  A bright drop of blood beaded up immediately.

“Will you accept my blood offering, my liege?” she asked demurely.

She held her finger out to him and he licked the drop of blood, keeping his eyes on her.  She smiled and picked up the leather sheath that had been dyed a deep black.  Keeping her eyes locked with his, she displayed her skill by swiftly stabbing the weapon into the sheath, risking a great deal if she had missed.  She stepped closer to him and spoke very softly.

“You once gave me a blade to sheathe, now I return the favor.”

Fire took the knife from her hand and smiled at her.  She was a bold, friendly girl, with a great spirit that at times bordered on the obnoxious, but he’d always have a fondness for the girl to whom he had lost his virginity.  A girl he had chosen as much for her wild nature as her complete lack of resemblance to Pria.  He wondered if her father had sent her away on her apprenticeship two years ago in order to quell anything serious from developing between them.  Fire didn’t think he’d have been in any danger of falling in love with her, but he had missed her on cold nights when the other girls of his acquaintance were wrapped up in the idea of romance.

“I accept your blood offering and your blade, Iron Strike Metalworker.  When I return from my journey and am made king of O-nam, bring your firstborn to me and I will bless him with the Blood of my family.”

The arms master sucked in a breath, giddy with joy.  Iron Strike wasn’t nearly impressed.  She just smiled coyly at him and murmured, “And here I was hoping my firstborn would be _of_ the Blood.”

Fire laughed.  “Don’t give up hope.  I have several siblings.”

“So you do.  I suppose I will have to settle for a sibling.  I’d thought maybe your father would need a second wife, but the news has spread fast that the queen consort is pregnant.  Clearly he has no desire for other women.”

“Iron Strike!” her father hissed at her rudeness, but Winter just muttered, “Ain’t that the clear truth.”

The arms master politely, but quickly escorted them from the smithy, ordering his children to stay put.  He apologized profusely for his daughter’s impertinence, but they dismissed her words claiming no insult.  Regardless, the arms master was relieved to see them go.

At the stables, the horse wrangler, Stag Horseman, waited with three horses saddled, bridled, and equipped with saddlebags that contained their grooming equipment and a few tools for repairing the tack.  Shyla had been gifted with one of the finest fillies just turned three years of age.  She was small of stature and therefore ideal for Shyla and not such a great loss for the breeding stock.  She was mild tempered, but energetic—a common characteristic of Athelasias.  She was brown and white with the hallmark spotting on her hindquarters, and a whinny that was somewhere between a horse neighing and a mule braying.  Winter’s horse, the one she had picked out on her horse selection trip, was a proud, skittish black gelding that cantered with a funny lope, but was somehow greatly skilled at dressage.  Not that Winter was very good at riding him during such demonstrations.  And of course, Moon Treader pulled against his reins with crossed eyes and nipped at the horse master’s gloved hand.

“I am no kin to you,” Stag said, “and so I owe you nothing and am not affected by the success or failure of your endeavor.  Therefore, what I offer I give with no expectation of return.  I also suffer no loss through the gifting,” he continued, obligated to disparage the gifts so that they were technically not gifts at all but burdens lifted from his shoulders.  “For the Athelasia, named Lady, is too small for breeding.  The gelding, Eclipse, is a nervous creature that disturbs my other horses.  And Moon Treader…” he laughed and gave Fire a wink.  “There’s no pretense in saying I’ll gladly be rid of him.”

Fire laughed too and reached out to take the reins from Stag.  Moon Treader sidestepped to sweep around behind Fire, hooking his head over his master’s shoulder so that he could bare his teeth at Stag in disgust.  Stag walked them to the gate that led into Shrija proper.  He bade them farewell, placing a friendly, encouraging hand on Fire’s shoulder, and then left to return to his duties.  Winter and Shyla led their horses through the gate, but before Fire passed onto the slate walkways outside of the stable grounds, he heard someone call his name softly.  He turned and saw Daymous emerge from the shadows themselves.  Fire started around nervously, searching for Leaffall—the two were inseparable and this wouldn’t be the first time his brother had used his servant as a diversion.

“I am alone,” Daymous said softly.  When Fire looked at him suspiciously, he actually cracked a small smile and said, “Leaf is unwilling to see you again.  He’s afraid he’ll cry.”

Fire laughed disbelievingly.  “Truly?”

“He loves you dearly, Fire.  I’m here to give you this.  If I may see your wrist?”

Fire held out his left arm.

“The other, please.”

Fire moved Moon Treader’s reins to his left hand and held out his right arm.  Daymous tied on a simple bracelet made from four different colored strings woven in a repeating, geometric pattern.

“Ah, it’s like the one Leaf wears.”

Daymous allowed another rare smile, this one tinged with amusement.  “Not quite like his.  This one is for protection.”

“Protection?”

“Yes.  The patterns make messages, like words, to my people.”

“Your people?  I thought you were an orphan.”

“I was.  Though no longer.  Please do your best to bring Senator Briseis’ daughter back with you.”

Fire’s jaw dropped.  That was the closest thing to a declaration of love anyone would probably be able to get out of Daymous.  Well, perhaps Leaffall could coax more out of him in more private circumstances.

Daymous reached out a hand and straightened Fire’s shirt even though it didn’t need it.  It had become a habit of his to straighten Fire’s clothing after being harangued by his brother.  Fire touched the bracelet at his wrist.

“Thank you, Daymous.”

“Take care, little brother.”

Fire smiled and put a finger to his lips, indicating he would keep silent.  It was quite a serious crime to make such a bold, and unfounded, declaration of kinship to a royal.  Daymous faded back into the shadows and Winter yelled at Fire from outside the gate.  He joined the other two and they walked from the stables, leading the horses, and followed the main thoroughfare that passed through the business district of Shrija to the eastern side of the city.  There were no visible spectators as they made their way through the unnaturally quiet city, but they could feel the weight of hidden eyes following them down the street which had been covered in fern fronds and dotted with angrec to denote their royal status, peonies for prosperity, snowdrops for hope, and bells of O-nam for luck.

At the eastern wall dozens of Blooddrinkers opened the iron barred gate for them, all shouting an offer of their service and blood to the heir.  Fire had to politely refuse each individual the right to travel with him, and drank so many drops of blood he became dizzy with the taste and wished someone had gifted them with water so he could get the thick coat off his tongue.  At last the trio passed from the city and into the surrounding fields.  They continued to lead the horses as they had to carefully pick their way through the narrow pathways so as not to destroy any of the ripening grains and vegetables.  Winter suggested they pilfer some on their way out, but Fire made her keep walking.  They were forced to turn north for some kilometers so that they could use the nearest ford of the Minor Serpent being unable to pay the ferryman to take them across.

The river was uncharacteristically high this late in spring, and the horses had to swim a short distance across the middle.  All three horses made it across just fine, but only two humans joined them.  Fire turned back and saw Shyla shivering in water up to his chest.  He’d been too afraid to hold on to Lady as she’d easily made the crossing.  Fire sighed and took off his weapons so he could go back for his friend.

“What a total dead weight he’s gonna be,” Winter said unsympathetically.  “We should ditch him somewhere.”

“Unfortunately, he’s part of my tasking, sweet sister.”

She grunted and Fire forged back into the river.  He allowed his friend to nearly choke him to death as he clung to his back while Fire ferried him across.  Shyla continued to shiver, but his head had stayed dry along with his complicated twist of hair and carved sticks, still in the early morning pattern.

“Can’t you swim?” Winter demanded as she swung up onto Eclipse’s back.

Shyla’s teeth chattered as he shook his head.

“Creevat’taugh is on the tip of the Peninsula,” Fire laughed.  “You’re surrounded on three sides by water.”

“But we don’t go _in_ it,” Shyla replied stubbornly.  “It’s unnatural.”

“Nonsense,” Fire said, not unkindly.  He helped Shyla awkwardly mount his horse, but once there he had a decent seat.  Fire gave Moon Treader a kiss on the nose before mounting and the horse bent his head back to nip affectionately at his knee.  It was such a fine line between affection and irritation with the stallion.

The trio urged their horses up the steep, green hill of the eastern bank of the river, and paused at its top.  Fire couldn’t help himself and turned back to look at Shrija.  It looked like a collection of toy blocks laid out by a child, the royal keep dark and prominent at its center.  He forced himself to face forward.  Ahead lay uncultivated grassland and sparse forest.  They would probably need to turn south to come across a town and see what they could do to earn some supplies.  Fire had traveled to almost every corner of O-nam with his father as a youth and later on his own, so he was not yet venturing into new territory.  But, symbolically, he was going to leave the only home he had known when they started down the hill, losing sight of Shrija behind it.

“Here we are,” Fire said austerely.  “At the precipice of the greatest adventure of our lives.”

For once, Moon Treader was still in the auspicious moment.  Beside him, Shyla gazed at the unknown horizon with solemnity.  Winter stood up in her stirrups a little, raising her butt off the saddle, and farted.

“Aish.  Leather pants and sitting astride a horse really keep you bottled up, huh?  Well, let’s go.”

Winter clicked at Eclipse and used a heel to get him to trot down the hill.  Fire nodded to himself in the shattered peace of his momentous departure.  He looked at Shyla and indicated his sister with a nod of his chin.

“Really?” he questioned.  “That?”

Shyla shrugged.  “I like strong women.”

“Then I suggest you find a woman.”

Shyla laughed.  “Ready?” he asked.

“No,” Fire admitted.  “But, here we go.”


End file.
